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JOHN MUNROE 



an 



d Old Barnstable 



1784-1879 



SKETCH OF A GOOD LIFE 



AN ANNIVERSARY TRIBUTE 
By ELIZABETH MUNROE 



C. W. SWIFT 
PRINTER 



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PREFACE. 
BRIEF history of the Munroe 
Family before their coming to 
America is given in a Gen- 
ealogical Record from which 1 
quote the following: William 
Munroe was the first person of 
the name known in America. In 
one of the bloody contests be- 
tween the crown and the people 
in the reign of Charles 1st, 
William .Munroe, who was a 
soldier in the King's army and a 
loyalist, was taken prisoner by 
Cromwell at the Battle of Dun- 
bar on the heights of Scotland. 
For this he was exiled from his 
country and with a shipload of 
soldiers sent to America. This 
was in 1640, twenty years after 
the landing of the Pilgrims at 
Plymouth. As prisoners of war 
they were compelled to work 
three days in the week for their 
masters and three for themselves. 
After- a time they were a hie to 
buy their Freedom, and from this 
were called Redemptioners. They 
established their homes in Lex- 
ington, and History t'-lls us that 
being an united family, they limit 



their houses together, each one 
making his house an addition to 
the next, so that the long row of 
one story buildings resembled a 
Rope work. Though William 
Munroe championed a cause that 
failed and was sacrificed to the 
will of a tyrant, he was a true 
patriot to his King and country, 
and for his loyalty banished with 
many others from home and 
exiled to Ameriea. Though in 
England the established author- 
ity was overthrown and kingly 
rule assumed by a usurper, it 
nevertheless proved the begin- 
ning of a Constitutional Govern- 
ment and gave the people their 
first authority in the making of 
laws and later establishing the 
Parliament of two houses, Lords 
and Commons, the established 
rule of England today. 




CHAPTER I. 

My Father's Family. 

HIS is the thirtieth anniversary 
of my dear father's death, and 
as the years go by I feel im- 
pelled to put on record some 
events of what from a retrospec- 
tive view, was a remarkable life. 
This I do especially for the pleas- 
ure, and also as 1 hope profit, of 
his grandchildren and great- 
grandchildren, and take up the 
pleasant task for love of him 
and them. As the youngest of 
his family, 1 regret to have but 
little better authority than what 
memory furnishes, as many 
events of his early life are only 
hearsay. 
i-Iohn Munroe was born in West 
Roxbury, October 11, 1784. He 
was one of five sons and two 
daughters, who died in infancy. 
The sons grew to manhood. My 
fa flier's father was Genl. Jon- 
athan Parker, one of the leading 
soldiers in the Revolution. He 
mustered one of the first com- 
panies to resist the British at 
Lexington, and was present at 
the famous Tea Party in Boston. 

1 



H N M U X R o E 



He belonged to the family from 
whom Rev. Theodore Parker 
descended, and lived on the hill 
at Brookline which takes its 
name from the family of Parker 
Hill. My father's mother Abigail 
Parker was born in 1753, and .it 
the age of twenty was married 
to my grandfather Daniel Mun- 
roe, born in Lexington and also 
of Revolutionary descent." Col. 
Robert Mnnroe was in the skir- 
mish at Lexington with the Brit- 
ish when on their way to Con- 
cord for the capture of military 
stores they were met by the 
Colonists, and was said to have 
fired the first shot on the 
American side. He was wounded 
in the morning in the elbow, 
and while still bleeding he 
remounted his horse and con- 
tinned on the field till the after- 
noon, when fainting from loss of 
hlood he was compelled to retire 
from the field. Among Conti- 
nental relics at the Old South 
church, Boston, may be seen the 
musket from which the shot was 
fired. This brief outline is taken 
from a book of more explicit de- 
tails owned by our cousin, Miss 
2 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Mary Munroe of Concord, recent- 
ly deceased. 

My grandfather's family lived 
for many years in Roxbury and 
some of his children were born 
there. Their names, which I give 
according to ages, were William, 
Daniel, Nathaniel, John, Charles 
and Abigail, who was named for 
her mother, all of whom 1 recall 
having seen at my father's house 
in Barnstable. William Munroe 
lived in Concord and had 
four sons and three daughters. 
William the father was the first 
and only maker for many years 
of the lead pencil, by which with 
his business as cabinet maker he 
amassed a handsome fortune. 
Nathaniel lived in Baltimore and 
had one son and three daughters. 
His descendants live now in Bos- 
ton, the children of Franklin 
Haven Who built the large house 
on the corner of Mt. Vernon and 
West Cedar Sts. Daniel Munroe 
lived in Boston and has one 
daughter and granddaughters 
still in its vicinity. When quite 
young my father, being in poor 
health, was advised by the elder 
Dr. Warren to make a home in 

3 



JOHN M U N R E 



the country, embarked on a ves- 
sel for a trip to Virginia, where 
he was advised to go for the win- 
ter. A severe storm arose, when 
the vessel anchored at Hyannis. 
While waiting for an abatement 
of the storm my father took a 
trip to the village of Barnstable, 
and being favorably impressed 
with the place decided to settle 
there. To go back a little T must 
tell from certain hints that he 
was always active, courageous 
and fond of certain kind of 
amusement. As a boy I am sure 
he was fond of games, and after 
he gave up business and retired 
for several years in the winter to 
Cambridge he often wandered to 
the Common where he was 
always interested in seeing the 
baseball games, and even to the 
last hours of his life he was men- 
tally and physically alive and 
alert. After he was past ninety 
I often went with him to call on 
Mr. Samuel Curtis of Boston, who 
was the same age, and with great 
.joy they talked of trundling 
hoop together when boys around 
Jamaica pond. I have often 
since living in Boston driven with 

4 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

a friend around the edge of the 
hill which overhangs the pond, 
and recognize the very path close 
to the pond where he must have 
trundled his hoop when a little 
boy. My grandfather removed 
his family to Boston when his 
children were young. They lived 
at the North End, which in those 
days was the Court End of the 
town. My father recalled that in 
conversation with his father and 
a friend he remembered hearing 
said that the North End was 
getting so crowded he feared he 
might have to go out to Beacon 
Street, where the land in the 
country was cheaper. My grand- 
father however remained at the 
North End until his death, until 
after my sister Susan went to 
Boston to school, as she recalled 
her experiences in dancing school, 
etc., when she lived with my 
grandmother. Later on she re- 
moved to Allen Street at the 
West End. 1 regret not to know 
on what street was my grand- 
mother's home at the North End, 
but as she was an attendant at 
Dr. Parkman's church, now 
standing at the corner of Clark 

5 



J O II N M U N R E 



and Hanover Streets, it could 
not have been far away from 
that point. 

This Dr. Parkman to whom I 
have alluded was one of two 
brothers whose dwelling was the 
large gray stone house within 
my memory facing Bowdoin 
Square. The two brothers were 
Francis and Henry, one a minis- 
ter and the other a doctor. 
Henry being accosted in the 
street one day as Doctor, an- 
swered, "I am the one who 
preaches and my brother prac- 
tices." The latter afterwards be- 
came famous as the man Webster 
murdered, for which crime he 
suffered the extreme penalty of 
the law. My father distinctly re- 
membered the two men, brothers 
Parkman, and always felt had 
Dr. Webster confessed his crime 
at once, the sympathy of the 
people would have been for him, 
for Dr. Parkman, though a strict- 
ly honorable man, had an uncom- 
promising nature and one entire- 
ly unable to cope with the loose, 
easy going morals <»!' Webster. 
In a fit of passion he committed 
the crime to which he was 
(i 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

aggravated, and he would have 
repented, but he had not the 
moral courage to confess it. 

After awhile my grandmother 
removed to make a home with 
her son in Concord, and from 
there my father took her to his 
home in Barnstable, where she 
died May 1, 1844. 

Here I will diverge a little 
from our family sketch to tell 
the children who cannot recall 
her of her appearance. She was 
a tall, stately woman with pierc- 
ing black eyes and a ruddy com- 
plexion. She was quite fond of 
dress and nothing that could be 
bought was too good for her. 
On her arrival we were quite im- 
pressed with the elegance of her 
long satin cloak with its double 
capes trimmed with thread lace. 
When her caps which she always 
wore were renewed she was quite 
distressed, fearing in the country 
she might not find the thread 
lace to trim them. Her big leg- 
horn bonnet, more in shape like 
some hats of present style, was 
kept in the largest band box in 
the house, and seldom saw the 
light of day as she never went 
7 



.1 II N M D N R E 

out. Although a woman with 
courage enough to live alone in 
a Boston house, she nevertheless 
was wildly distressed at the sight 
of a spider, and 1 amusingly re- 
call the frantic jig she performed 
one day in the dining room, 
where with her dress upraised 
and her eyes wild with fright she 
rushed about the room. 

My father was very happy to 
have her under his roof, and as 
the years went on and she was 
unable to come down stairs to the 
table he never failed to make his 
daily visits to her room, where 
before her open fire she re- 
counted the events of her youth 
with much zest, while my dear 
father listened delighted. She 
had an affectionate nature, and I 
recall her saying with much feel- 
ing, "Oh John, how I did love 
my five little boys." I think 
she had a happy ending to 
her long life in our family of 
mother, father and six daughters, 
and on gala occasions when my 
sisters dressed for their village 
halls and parties, she must al- 
ways have them come to her 
room to be approved and ad- 
8 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

mired. In the winter of 1843 she 
had a slight shock of paralysis, 
after which she never left her 
bed, most of the time in a semi- 
conscious condition, in which she 
died, May 1, 1844. I was twelve 
years old at that time and re- 
member my sister Caroline and 
I were dressed in black as were 
all the other members of the fam- 
ily. It was evidently the custom 
of the times, and I recall the de- 
light we had in our dark laven- 
der mousseline de lane skirts and 
black velvet waists. It may have 
been conventional in those days 
to dress children in mourning, 
but the feeling in my father I 
think was not to omit the small- 
est respect due to his beloved 
mother. 

I have alluded to Samuel Cur- 
tis as an acquaintance of my 
father, which he renewed at nine- 
ty years of age in Boston. His 
wife was quite a remarkable 
horseback rider in her youth, 
often mounting a horse in the 
riding school for the first time 
and training it for ladies' use. 
One day when about seven years 
old, on my return from school 1 
!) 



.1 O II N M 17 X R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

was surprised to find Grand- 
mother sitting in the parlor in 
her best black satin dress before 
an open fire entertaining two 
fine ladies from Boston. They 
were Mrs. Curtis and her niece 
Mrs. Briggs, who had come all 
the way from Boston on horse- 
back to visit Grandma. They re- 
mained over night and the next 
morning left to proceed on the 
trip to Chatham. In those days 
of sandy roads the enterprise was 
considered quite heroic, and after 
they left we heard their hus- 
bands started from Boston, but 
on reaching Plymouth turned 
back discouraged at the long tire- 
some journey. 

10 




CHAPTER II. 
Early Life in Barnstable. 

IS advent to Barnstable occurred 
in 1809. His work as watch 
maker was the first, and for 
very many years the only 
one, of its kind on Cape Cod, 
so that he had all the patron- 
age from Falmouth to Province- 
town. He seized the opportunity 
and then and there with only his 
own two hands began his life's 
work. He first introduced the 
tall mahogany eight day clocks, 
manufactured by his brothers 
Nathaniel, Daniel and William, 
several of which are still stand- 
ing in the old homes of Barnsta- 
ble. 

Soon after his coming there he 
met my mother, to whom he was 
married the following year. My 
mother's father, Timothv Phin- 
ney, was keeping at that time the 
large family store now standing 
at the corner of Hyannis Road, 
in the west ell of the house after- 
wards owned and occupied by 
David Crocker, Esq., for many 
years sheriff of Barnstable Coun- 
11 



■ I o II N M U N R E 

ty. My grandfather was living 
at that time in the large house 

now occupied by Miss Sarah 
Bacon, in the north parlor of 
which my mother was married in 

1810. 

The house in Pine Lane was 
their home for a year, when my 
father purchased the house now 
in Barnstable which from 1811 to 
this time has heen the home of 
that grandfather whom his 
grandchildren remember. When 
first occupied by my father and 
mother as a young couple, it was 
a low single house, and remained 
such till 1834, when it was raised 
to its present size. As a low 
house the walls were of unusual 
height. It was built by a carpen- 
ter by the name of Jabez Allen, 
for his own use, and the timbers 
of old oak are today unusual in 
size and still perfeetly sound. 
To this home my father took 1 his 
young wife and beneath its roof 
all the nine children were born. 
The furniture now in the rear 
parlor was their first, and con- 
sists of eight flagged seated 
chairs, a mahogany sofa, two 
mahogany card tables, two small 
12 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



mahogany light stands, so called 
in the days when brass lamps 
and candles only were used. The 
gilt framed mirror with a land- 
scape picture at the top, and the 
landscape in floss work wrought 
by Nancy Phinney are the two 
wall decorations that have been 
there from the time of my earli- 
est remembrance. A large Frank- 
lin fireplace (so called because 
invented by Benjamin Franklin) 
helped essentially in lighting as 
well as heating the room, which 
was the family sitting room. On 
the top of the fire frame was a 
large sheet iron drum bound 
with brass, from both sides 
of which pipes extended to 
the chimney, which thoroughly 
warmed the room and bedroom 
adjoining. In the left corner of 
this room is the French brass 
student lamp which my father 
called his watchmaker's lamp. 
Many and many an evening has 
he sat by it plying his fingers at 
the work which employed his 
hands — hands that were never 
idle in the early days of his life 
when he followed his diligent 
13 



J II N M U N R E 

trade to keep his flock warmed, 
clothed and fed and to drive the 
wolf from the door. 

In his frequent trips to Boston 
he took always with him a full 
memorandum of family wants 
and needs, partly from the neces- 
sity imposed and more that he 
felt the country did not furnish 
the best, which he was always 
ambitious of in everything we 
wore, — shoes, stockings, dresses, 
hats, bonnets, etc., were impor- 
tant items in his long and gen- 
erous list of family wants. 

My father's work began in a 
little shop nearly opposite, on 
the eornei' of what is now the 
driveway to the residence of Mr. 
Henry Mortimer. 

An incident in my father's 
early life illustrates so fully the 
integrity of character elemental 
in my father that I must give it 
here a brief paragraph. The 
house was near the Crocker Tav- 
ern, and as cardplaying was the 
favorite pastime of those days, 
he and the village young men 
frequently assembled there for 
that pleasure. He had been mar- 
ried about a year, and having 
U 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

been several evenings in the 

week to play cards, one Saturday 
night he put on his coat to go 
as visual. I could imagine as he 
related the incident to me the 
gentle way in which my mother 
reminded him that he had been 
very often, and he said, "I real- 
ized the habit was controlling 
me," and with his characteristic 
earnestness he told me, "] took 
oft' my coat and I never went 
again." Trifling as this was in 
itself it meant an instinctive in- 
tegrity which governed him in 
all the acts of his long life, in 
which duty and conscience con- 
trolled in the small as well as the 
larger duties that came to him. 

After his business increased, 
and with that his responsibilities, 
he never hesitated in his visits to 
Boston in the interests of his 
bank, to do the smallest favors 
to please us young children, who, 
I fear, did not realize what it 
meant to him ; but if irksome, it 
always seemed to him the great- 
est delight to gratify us in every 
possible wish and way. 

15 




CHAPTER I if. 

Early Days. Piano, etc. 

OUNTRY life in early days, 
if somewhat narrow and self- 
centered, seems in retrospect 
much more individual and in- 
teresting than now, when rail- 
roads bring one in constant touch 
with larger life and blend coun- 
try and city into one. Until the 
middle of the nineteenth century 
communication with the city was 
made three-fourths of the year 
in sailing vessels. Three neat 
and comfortable packets made 
tri-weekly trips to Boston, often 
in summer steamboats alternating 
between from June to October. 
They were filled with passengers, 
who from the deck in' comforta- 
ble cushioned chairs enjoyed the 
lovely blue water and pretty 
green shore, which at intervals 
were seen all the way from wharf 
to wharf. The last trip was 
usually made in November, just 
before the yearly Thanksgiving. 
How vividly I recall that happy 
time when my father made his 
16 



JOHN M IT N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

last season's trip! With what 
eager eyes we children watched 
from our high attic window to 
catch a first glimpse of the ves- 
sel's topsail, bringing to us our 
dear father with all his winter 
treasures, and then what excite- 
ment when the carts came up 
the yard filled with stores of 
good things, barrels, boxes, etc. 
For he bought besides these all 
our winter clothing, dresses, bon- 
nets, shoes, cloaks, beside the at- 
tractive purchases for his jewelry 
shop, which stood at the end of 
our yard on the street. 

The little shop still stands, 
though removed back from the 
street to meet a demand for 
wider roads. The sight of it still 
recalls memories most dear as 
the hallowed place where, day 
after day, year in and year out, 
he plied his busy fingers to keep 
his big family warmed, fed and 
clothed. The joy of those youth- 
ful days, so scant of resources as 
compared with present times, 
and yet full of all the best that 
makes life worth living ! 

One special event looms before 
17 



JOHN M U N K E 



my memory even to this day as 
I recall the arrival of my father 
one Sunday morning in summer, 
bringing to my sister Carrie and 
myself our first parasol. The 
handle was ivory, with a ring in 
it, and the end had a twisted top. 
.My sister Jane told us that it was 
made of Levantine satin, and we 
spent most of the day in trying 
to spell Levantine. We were 
much too excited to go to church, 
but we walked all over the house 
with them over our heads till 
afternoon, when we took them 
into the fields, the only place 
children Avere allowed to walk on 
Sunday. The next morning 
mother said we could take them 
to school, but we must let the 
girls (most of them in the neigh- 
borhood had come to see the 
parasols) carry them a part of 
the way. I think we both ven- 
tured to wish they had been blue, 
but my mother said that green 
was better for our eyes, so we 
were reconciled. Years have 
passed with their many joys as 
well as sorrows, hut nothing 
eclipses to this hour the joy of 
my first parasol. As a rival 
IS 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

treasure I remember among other 
delights that of a pair of white 
kid shoes, which T took off in 
Sunday school and showed to 
the girls in my class the name of 
•John Reed, Washington street. 

My dear sister Sarah when in 
her teens was afflicted for a long 
time with lameness in her right 
arm, which rendered it useless. 
The sympathy of my father was 
always so touched by any sick- 
ness of his dear children that she 
became for the time being the pet 
of the family. On the return from 
one of his visits to Boston he 
brought a large, mysterious box, 
which he opened and displayed a 
most beautiful blue satin bonnet, 
trimmed with lovely blue and 
white marabout feathers. I re- 
member to this day how my sis- 
ter Carrie and I held our breath 
as we regarded with admiration, 
(though not with envy, I am 
sure) on this dream of beauty. 
We were a most happy family, I 
know, and through life have 
shared each other's joys and 
wept each other's tears. 

The next most delightful event 
I recall was the arrival of a 

19 



JOHN M U N R E 



piano. It was made of mahogany 
and as a piece of furniture was 
an ornamental addition to our 
parlor. It came without an ink- 
ling of its arrival and we were 
wild with delight. My sister 
Ahhy, who was ahout returning 
from a visit to Barre, was in- 
formed of the new piano and ex- 
tended her visit that she might 
have lessons. On her return she 
brought several pretty songs 
from her teacher, Miss Perry, 
which we thought very beautiful, 
especially "Oh Where Do Fairies 
Hide Their Heads?" From time 
to time every member of the 
family availed themselves of op- 
portunities for music lessons, in 
New Bedford and elsewhere, as 
we could find teachers. 

The first sorrow in my father's 
family circle was the death of 
little Sarah, as my mother always 
called her. She died in May, 
1826. My sister Jane described 
her as fair-haired, with soft blue 
eyes and pink cheeks, and the 
youngest in the home at the time 
of her death. The event made 
a sad and lasting impression on 
my sister -lane who was then 
20 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



eleven. She in later times often 
spoke of the inconsolable sorrow- 
she felt and with what grief and 
despair her young heart was 
touched. 

In 1832 my father's oldest 
daughter Susan was married to 
Albert Alden, a lineal descendant 
of John Alden. The young 
couple went immediately to Lan- 
caster, where they made a de- 
lightful home in one of the old 
families there. Lancaster was a 
charming town where artists and 
people of some note resorted, 
and in the refined atmosphere 
of the place my sister and her 
husband spent several years of 
their first married life. In the 
house where they made a tem- 
porary home for five years lived 
Gen. Lee, the English consul, also 
Jerome Thompson, quite a noted 
artist of his time. He painted 
the portrait of sister Susan, 
which now hangs in the hall of 
the Barnstable house. 

I wish my nieces and nephews 
who do not remember their Uncle 
Albert, to know that he had a 
refined artistic taste, which he 
devoted to the art of lithography. 
21 



J II N M U N R E 



This became his occupation, and 
some of his work was the illus- 
trating of the first pictorial mag- 
azine in this country. Steel en- 
graving was not then known in 
America, and all the illustrated 
books such as Heath's Book of 
Beauty Annuals and the like 
were imported from England. 
Photography was not thought of 
till many years after, when what 
is equivalent to it now were first 
called Sun pictures. Daguerre- 
otypes were named from a 
Frenchman by the name of Da- 
guerre, who first discovered the 
art of what is now the negative 
from which a photograph is 
transferred to paper. From Lan- 
caster they moved to Barre, 
where they made a pleasant home 
and many delightful friends and 
where also all our family from 
time to time loved to visit for the 
invigorating atmosphere and 
agreeable society. The Lancaster 
Unitarian church had as its pas- 
tor Dr. Nathaniel Thayer, a type 
of dignified clergymen in the 
Unitarian faith whose legacy to 
this world has been an example 
to copy and respect. Rev Paul 
22 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Frothingham of the Arlington 
street church is a lineal descen- 
dant. From Lancaster he came 
to Boston and preached in the 
First church in Chauncey street. 
In the present First church on 
Marlboro street is a tablet to his 
memory. 

23 




CHAPTER IV. 

My Sister Susan's Children. 

ARY Alden, my sister Susan's 
oldest child, was born in Barre, 
September 8, 1840. She was a 
girl whose loveliness of charac- 
ter and person it is easier to un- 
derrate than to overrate. Her 
charm of face and manner at- 
tracted many friends, and in her 
school life, especially with her 
teachers, she was a beloved favor- 
ite. She loved poetry and before 
ten years old wrote several 
pretty verses, and at the time of 
her death at twenty-four her 
mother collected her poems and 
published them with a picture of 
her sweet face as a frontispiece. 
At school she took prizes in all 
her studies and at her graduation 
from the Cambridge high school 
was chosen to write the Class 
Ode, on which occasion William 
Everett wrote the Class Oration. 
She had a sweet temper, though 
highly sensitive and affectionate. 
Ilcr nature was religious and 
when young she became a mem- 
ber of the Unitarian church in 
24 



JOHN M U N E E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

East Cambridge. Rev Mr Hol- 
land, its minister, was deeply in- 
terested and aided her much in 
her reading- and study. .She was 
almost inner without a book in 
her hand and had a taste for 
reading much beyond that of her 
years. But even before her 
school days were ended her 
health failed and her mother, 
hoping change of air and climate 
might save her, took her to the 
highlands of the Hudson. But 
she perceptibly declined and was 
brought to Barnstable, where six 1 
died on the 24th of May, 1865. 

Lizzie Munroe Aid en was in 
some ways more remarkable than 
her sister Mary. She was full of 
life and spirit with a keen sense 
of the ridiculous, and possessed 
a mind and taste so beyond her 
years that to say she was a 
genius seems the best explana- 
tion of her talent. At ten years 
of age she would hear a hymn 
at church that pleased her and 
repeat every word of it after a 
second reading. At one time her 
sister Mary had been to the 
theatre and heard a performance 

25 



•I O II N M U N R E 

of the "Merchant of Venice," 
and in describing Portia to her 
mother she hegan to repeat "The 
quality of mercy," etc., when 
Lizzie interrupted her, "No, 
Mary, that isn't right." So up 
she jumped into her ehair 
and with gesticulation she went 
through the whole speech with- 
out her mother's knowledge that 
she had ever read a word of it. 
She had a great love of flowers, 
and with her little chair would 
march out into the garden and 
crossing her knee sit with her 
pencil and paper drawing perfect 
outline pictures of pansies (which 
she said was her favorite flower). 
She was never without a flower 
pinned to her waist. During her 
illness, which was what we called 
an old-fashioned consumption, 
she was never without a flower 
and often would wake in the 
night and ask for a flower to 
hold in her hand. Her tempera- 
ment was vivacious to a degree, 
and she and Charlie Allen, who 
were mutual admirers, would sit 
on the doorstep by the hour to- 
gether, amusing themselves and 
us with their merry giggle. 
26 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Charlie Allen was Lizzie's ideal, 
and their comradeship was very 
real and a sweet memory of them 
both. She was only ten when 
she died, and I always felt her 
big mind was too much for her 
little delicate body. 

All these misfortunes touched 
my father's heart very deeply 
and there was no occasion when 
he could show his sympathy and 
love that he failed to do so. My 
sister Susan's deafness gave him 
much excuse for unusual expres- 
sions of sympathy in every way, 
and after the loss of her children 
he never came to Boston thaf he 
would not steal a few moments 
to go to East Cambridge for a 
call. 

My brother-in-law, Albeit Al- 
den, retained a long service in 
the Custom House and with my 
sister lived their quiet but lone- 
ly lives in Cambridge till late in 
the year 1882 my brother de- 
veloped a heart trouble, from 
which he died in 1884. This left 
my sister very lonely and help- 
less, and in the spring following 
she removed to Cambridge and 
from thence to Barnstable, which 

27 



J UN M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

was a permanent home till her 
death in 1895. She accompanied 
us to and from Cambridge and 
her last years were, though lone- 
ly, occupied with her favorite 
employment of needlework and 
reading, with which the Barnsta- 
hle library kept her furnished. 
She was a constant reader and it 
was good to feel that she with 
all her sad losses could spend 
her last days in her own chosen 
way. The cemetery at Barnsta- 
ble was the spot where my broth- 
er Albert often said he hoped his 
bones would be laid. So on the 
green hillside which overlooks 
the sunrise and sunset, he and 
his whole family sleep. As he 
was especially fond of Gray's 
Elegy I will close this brief ac- 
count with the words he so much 
loved : «> 

"The curfew tolls the knell of 
parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly 
o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods 
his weary way 
And leaves the world to dark- 
ness and to me." 
28 




CHAPTER V. 

Aunt Mercy. 

N early New England days be- 
fore the coming of foreigners 
for domestic service, every 
family had a helper. Usually 
was a village girl who Avent 
into large families to assist in 
all kinds of work, such as the 
care of children, sewing, knitting 
and usual housework. In our 
village lived an interesting char- 
acter whom we children called 
Aunt Mercy, and whose memory 
is that of a unique personality 
and old friend whom all children 
loved. When young, from an 
attack of measles she lost the 
sight of one eye, hut nothing es- 
caped the notice of the one left 
and all her faculties, especially 
her speech, were ready and quick. 
With a sense of humor she at 
all times regaled herself and her 
friends. After years of service 
were over she took care of her 
father and mother until their 
death. Subsequently a kind rel- 
ative left her a little apartment, 
which she neatly kept till her 
29 



•I II N M U N R E 

death. Occasionally after her 
working days were over she 
would put on her bonnet and ap- 
pear at our house saying she had 
come down to spend the after- 
noon in Heaven with my father 
and mother, who welcomed her 
cordially. 

Nothing perished with her for 
want of utterance and she had a 
most reckless way of telling any 
and everybody her opinion of 
them, which with her good- 
natured frankness and the amuse- 
ment it gave her was taken in 
good part. She was a regular 
Mrs. Partington in her twisting 
of words, and would tell my 
mother she had found a beauti- 
fulsome rule of cake with all the 
ingregements. One day she en- 
countered in the street a gentle- 
man, formerly one of the Barn- 
stable boys, who had become a 
merchant prince of Boston. As 
he had grown to a six footer and 
naturally somewhat changed he 
accosted her with, "Aunt Mercy, 
do you remember me:'" She re- 
peated, "Do I remember you? I 
guess T shall never forget when 
you sat on my lap and I warmed 
30 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

your little toes at the fire. You 
had some pretty curls then and 
your mother thought you was 
beautiful. You are homely 
enough now, but folks tell me 
you are awful rich." 

She had a brother who was a 
Methodist minister and in a 
series of revival meetings was 
supposed to have made a convert 
of Mercy, a rumor she rather re- 
sented and which she secretly 
confided to my father. Because 
it was her brother Ben she 
seemed to distrust his ability to 
do the thing properly. "lie told 
me," she said, "I must have a 
new heart, but 1 said, 'Fiddle- 
stick, 1 rather have a new wash- 
tub,' " and added, "I'll be 
whipped if he isn't trying to 
make me join his church." A 
short time after this interview 
my father and I took a walk to 
the Methodist church on Sunday. 
The minister preached from the 
text "Go to the ant, thou slug- 
gard, and be wise." After the 
service she discovered our pres- 
ence (for if she wanted to see, 
her one eye was quite equal to 
the occasion) and in a tone aud- 

31 



J UN M U N R E 



ible all over the small church 
she said, "Well, well, Mr. Mun- 
roe, I don't take any of that 
kind of sermon to myself, for 
you know I never was lazy, and 
as for preaching- about ants, I 
suppose it's well enough to crack 
them up but I think they are 
pesky tilings enough and no good 
anyhow. ' ' 

She took a trip to Boston in 
the packet. When she returned 
Boston was having a scare about 
small pox and she came home 
quite excited about it. "I 
couldn't help laughing," she 
said, "to think if I had got it 
and died how grand it would 
have been to be| brought home in 
the packet with me on board sail- 
ing up the harbor with colors 
half mast." You would have 
thought her rather disappointed 
that she had missed the chance 
of such a grand reception in the 
village. 

She kept house at one time 
for a bachelor in the town 
who had long been feeble 
and failing, so slowly that she 
became very impatient, apparent- 
ly seeming to feel he had lived 

32 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

unreasonably long. So quite in 
earnest she said to my father, 
'Do you suppose, Mr. Munroe, 
the Lord has forgotten all about 
him?' Her entire faith in the 
Lord she always kept and made 
him responsible for what she ap- 
proved as well as what she con- 
sidered his mistakes. A means 
of grace to her was a sister mem- 
ber of the Methodist church who 
was inclined to be frivolous and 
always twitting Mercy about get- 
ting married, etc. One day she 
met Mercy in the street and an- 
nounced her own engagement. 
This was like an electric shock to 
poor Mercy but she was equal 
to the occasion and with rather 
an original congratulation said, 
' ' Marry ! Who for Heaven 's sake 
is going to marry you?" The 
man was a stranger to Mercy but 
she said, "Well I hope I am 
thankful you have got a beau at 
last, for it has been nothing but 
marry, marry, till you have wor- 
ried the flesh all off your bones. 
Do for pity's sake marry him 
quick before he gets off the 
notion of you." 

Her flowery account she gave 
33 



J II N M U N R O E 

of a wedding she heard described 
was the most amusing tangle; 
she got the bride's trousseau all 
mixed up with the bridegroom's 
and had the bride dressed in 
black laee and the man in white 
satin, the narrative which she 
re hearsed at the village tavern 
much to the amusement of an 
audience she drew around her. 
They laughed and they laughed, 
she said. To laugh at Life and 
Death and Immortality was Aunt 
Mercy's way of covering much 
really tender serious feeling, for 
she could cry as easily, and in 
her own sympathetic way use the 
same endearing tone to a cat or 
dog as to a human being. 

The man in the village who 
kept the typical country store 
with its usual incongruous vari- 
ety occasionally made an innova- 
tion upon the undertaker's spe- 
cialty, and on going into his 
place one day Mercy discovered a 
coffin in readiness apparently for 
a funeral. "Well! Well!" she 
said to the man, "what wont you 
keep next? Is this one of the 
things you have marked down?' 
If it is, I don't know but I will 
34 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

speak for it. All I am afraid of 
is that I shan't have good clothes 
enough to wear with all this satin 
lining that looks so nice. It 
would make my back ache to 
have to lie so still." 

One bitter winter morning she 
came to spend the day with my 
mother and father and to pay her 
respects to my sister Jane, who 
was visiting them. Toward night 
she grew feverish and was 
persuaded to spend the night. 
She grew very ill and the doctor 
who was called to her early in 
the morning pronounced her case 
malignant erysipelas. She re- 
mained six weeks and was cared 
for by my good sister Jane as 
if she had been our very own. 
The last years of her life were in 
ber own home, where she died, 
and where in every home she 
was known and loved and missed. 

The service that succeeded the 
old-fashioned helper were from 
the village of Mashpee. This 
was a large Indian settlement in 
the extreme southwest town of 
Barnstable, where from the 
town's earliest existence these 
natives lived. For many years 

35 



•T II N M U N R E 



the people were wards of the 

state. Later, when schools were 

established and they had ac- 
quired an elementary education, 
the legislature granted them the 
rights of citizenship, with the 
privilege of voting and rep- 
resentation. 

The town had a large territory 
of cranberry bogs, which yielded 
them money, and as they had 
much intelligence as workers 
they subsequently became pros- 
perous and enlightened. Latter- 
ly they intermarried with negroes 
and as a natural result have 
deteriorated physically. They 
were naturally large and strong 
and made excellent capable ser- 
vants. The last of the race whom 
I remember was a tall, nice look- 
ing Indian by the name of Dinah, 
with a small, insignificant look- 
ing husband of whom she seemed 
to be in mortal dread. Invari- 
ably he would make his appear- 
ance soon after she came to us 
and demand all her money, which 
she; never dared refuse. Her last 
visit was about forty-six years 
ago, when she came to us and 
gave a most timely service during 

36 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



the last illness of my dear niece 
Mary Alden. She was a gentle 
and devoted nurse, and at that 
time was a great assistance and 
comfort to us all. 

In our own town lived a family 
of Greenough by name. They 
were all unusually intelligent and 
capable, and I have heard my 
father say that a chief by that 
name was a wise man of good 
judgment and good sense, whom 
they called Judge Greenough. 
This meant that in any question 
of rights or disagreement he 
acted as adviser, and held the 
same wise position to his people 
in settling questions of right and 
wrong, and to his judgment they 
gave the ultimate decision. There 
still lives in Yarmouth one of 
the daughters who is now nine- 
ty-two years old. She is bright 
and capable and keeps her own 
little home as neat and clean as 
a new dime. She is known in the 
town and outside it as the premi- 
um maker of wedding cake, and 
not long since one of the village 
millionaires near her home would 
37 



.1 o 11 N M U N E E 

have no one's wedding cake but 
Susannah 's. 

My father told me at one time 
in days when mail was carried 
on horseback that the carrier on 
his way to Mashpee, ten miles 
from Barnstable, was overtaken 
by an Indian woman in the woods 
a little this side the village. She 
asked the mail carrier to let her 
ride on the saddle behind him. 
He did so, but on approaching 
the town, not wishing to enter 
with a squaw on pillion fashion, 
he whipped up his horse thinking 
to shake her off. On the con- 
trary the old squaw said, "That's 
right, Massa, when I nide I love 
to nide." My mother used to 
tell me this story, laughing till 
the tears ran down her cheek, 
without any audible sound, in 
which she resembled her father, 
our Grandfather Phinney, of 
whom my sister Jane used to say 
that in many ways she was a 
perfect facsimile. 

In this connection something 
occurs which I will give place to, 
though trivial and quite unimpor- 
tant save as it confirms my sis- 
ter's words. When I was a 
38 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

school girl, a sea captain brought 
from one of his voyages a very 
obstinate but mild and gentle 
donkey. Capt. Thomas Harris, 
who owned the little beast, very 
kindly loaned it to the village 
children and it came my turn to 
entertain him for a week's visit. 
Every day in the morning, at 
noon and after school the yard 
at the back of our house was a 
village carnival, which has never 
been exceeded since or rivalled 
even, except by the cattle show. 
The crisis came, however, one 
morning when as I was mounted 
for a pillion ride with one of the 
school boys, the little Jack, either 
intentionally, as I suspected, or 
in a moment of excitement, with 
which the atmosphere was 
charged, kicked up his heels and 
I was ingloriously laid low on 
the ground and much lower in 
my mind. My mother stood at 
her window, as she usually did 
when the donkey show was on, 
laughing with the tears running 
down her cheeks at this circus, 
until she found I had barely es- 
caped a broken arm, when the 
loved but long lost treasure was 

39 



JOHN M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLK 

walked out of the yard at a 
much more rapid pace than he 
walked into it, followed by a pro- 
cession of defeated admirers. 
The event was never spoken of 
or alluded to that my mother did 
not almost shake herself into hys- 
terics at my inglorious downfall. 
40 




CHAPTER VI. 

Education. 

NE of the difficult problems con- 
fronting my father's country 
life was the education of his 
children. I think I have pre- 
viously spoken of my sister 
Susan, who was sent to Boston 
to my grandmother for her edu- 
cation. There she was taught the 
accomplishments as known then, 
dancing, painting, drawing, etc. 
It was quite a trial to her parents 
to send her away from home, as 
she was the oldest daughter, but 
her deafness appearing when 
young made them doubly solicit- 
ous of all possible advantages to 
overcome the many hindrances 
she would naturally feel. But 
there were other daughters to 
educate, and my father came to 
Boston to the Temple to induce 
Miss Esther Sturgis to come to 
Barnstable to teach his little 
girls. She consented, and a room 
was procured in the Hinckley 
house, then in Bow Lane, where 
she began her school with seven 
41 



.1 o 11 N M r X R () E 

girls. Miss Esther Sturgis was 
the daughter of ;i Captain 
William Sturgis, whose family 
house was what is known as the 
Sturgis Library building. Miss 
Catharine Sturgis was the first 
who taught the older girls, and 
was after succeeded by her 
younger sister Esther, who was 
a fair haired lady of gentle man- 
ners and refinement. 

The beautiful sewing occasion- 
ally seen now is ! a revival of the 
beautiful bead and needlework 
done at that time. I recall a 
lovely cap embroidered by my 
sister Susan and especially pre- 
served as the christening cap, 
which went through the family 
of eight little girls at the 
christening ceremony before the 
altar of the Unitarian church. 

To return to the question of 
schools in Barnstable. A cor- 
poration was formed and built 
an academy, which for our gen 
('ration was a help. Greek, Latin 
and French were taught, besides 
English branches common to all 
schools. The academy was well 
equipped with globes and chem- 
ical apparatus and for awhile 
42 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

was a prosperous school. It 
lasted for about ten years and 
then for reasons I cannot explain 
was abandoned. 

The next school my sister Car- 
oline and I attended was at Yar- 
mouthport. It was kept in the 
hall then used as a Swedenbor- 
gian church and its pastor was 
our teacher, Dr. Shove assisting 
in a French class. My sister Caro- 
line and I were conveyed back 
and forth by Mr. Eben Bacon 
with his two daughters Sarah 
and Lucretia, who attended the 
school. In summer we were con- 
veyed to the school in a small 
stage coach which came to Bain- 
stable to bring passengers to the 
steamboat. 

When thirteen years old I was 
sent to a girls' school in New 
Bedford, taught by the Misses 
Weston. I shall never forget my 
dreary journey in a lumbering 
stage coach, in which I set forth 
at four o'clock on a November 
morning to take alone my first 
long journey. To this day I re- 
call the dismal experience with 
a shudder. The school as I 
think of it now was an ideal one. 
43 



• I II X M IT N R K 

The teachers were women of re- 
finement and culture and their 
method of teaching in advance 
of the times. Instead of crowd- 
ing us with useless and uninter- 
esting work their plan was to 
develop from within, in other 
words to give work that should 
train us to think for ourselves. 
Much of the teaching was oral, 
besides which we had our read- 
ing from poetry and history, on 
which notes were required and 
examined. She did what is 
much neglected in these days, 
viz., taught to read. This kind 
of instruction was versatile and 
full of interest. Merits were 
given for the best answers, as 
well as for our time of study out- 
side the school, and for our music 
practice, drawing, painting and 
our progress in languages and 
translation exercises It was 
there I imbibed my first taste of 
Browning, which has not only 
never left me but has grown with 
my growth and strengthened with 
my strength. 

On returning from New Bed- 
ford a neighbor who wished to 
send her son to school at Har- 
44 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

wich consulted my father, who 
proposed my sister Carrie and I 
should take advantage of the 
arrangement, which we did and 
attended for a year. Mr Sidney 
Brooks was the principal, also 
teacher of languages and higher 
mathematics. The assistant taught 
French, music and drawing. Mr. 
Brooks was a delightful man and 
as we were from out of town 
he made our leisure days very 
agreeable. Every Saturday we 
took pleasure excursions, which 
he piloted, to various romantic 
places, of which there were many 
in the town and some most 
charming. Especially so were our 
picnics to Long pond, a lovely 
lake surrounded with wooded 
hills and groves, where in sum- 
mer we found sail boats at our 
disposal, and in winter had most 
exhilarating trips in iceboats 
around and across the pond, end- 
ing in a sumptuous lunch and 
a horsecart ride home with any 
amount of singing and jollity. 
In a large hall over the school 
room Mr. Brooks placed a nice 
piano for the use of his pupils, 
especially for those from out of 
45 



J () II N M U N R E 

town, and it is putting it mildly 
to say we made the most of our 
opportunities Occasionally our 
so-called entertainments included 
the village people, whom we were 
supposed to amuse with our so- 
called entertainments, tableaux, 
dancing, etc., in all of which 
various schemes for fun our 
good Mr. Brooks aided and 
encouraged in every reasonable 
way. Meanwhile a brisk revival 
was going on in the church oppo- 
site, and I question if the good 
Orthodox deacon with whom we 
boarded might not have had his 
qualms of conscience as to the 
propriety of our doings, but if 
so he shrewdly concealed it, 
though now and then in his 
morning prayers he relieved his 
feelings by a side thrust, which 
I am afraid was not heeded. 

These were our last school 
days, to which happy time every 
one I believe looks back as best 
days, for the freedom from care 
and lightness of heart on which 
no continued responsibility rests. 
Long after the school days of his 
children were passed my father 
still retained his interest in the 
46 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

village schools in Barnstable, al- 
ways contributing generously to 
efforts made for private schools, 
several of which were revived, 
though only for a short time. 
The public schools he did not 
much approve, and I remember 
attending only once with my sis- 
ter Carrie, when after a few 
weeks we were told we might 
bring our books home, which we 
did without any questions. 
47 




CHAPTEB VII. 

Louisa's Marriage 

and Grandchildren. 

HAVE anticipated in my fath- 
er's life some years of its early 
history which I must retrace 
to relate. The first break in 
the home was the marriage of 
my sister Louisa in 1837 to 
William II. Brown of Taunton. 
He kept a country store at Barn- 
stable, in partnership with Mat- 
thew Cobb, a native of the town. 
The firm dissolved in about ten 
years, when my brother-in-law 
removed to Taunton with his 
family of two children. Two 
others were born to him there, 
where they lived until, after the 
marriage of their only daughter, 
they removed to New York and 
made a home witli their two chil- 
dren when both were in estab- 
lished business. 

His oldest son Thomas married 
in Taunton in 1858. When the 
war broke out he enlisted in a 
military company in that town. 
His regiment joined ;i brigade 
under Gen. Nathaniel Hanks, who 
4S 



J O H N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

ordered his company in one of 
the times of inaction to Mobile, 
where he sickened with malarial 
fever and died in August, 18u'3. 
This was the first death of my 
father's grandchildren, and he 
often said that he recognized no 
difference in his interest and love 
between them and his very own. 
Thomas was a most lovable son, 
and to his tender-hearted, affec- 
tionate mother his loss was ir- 
reparable. While she never op- 
posed him in the performance of 
what he recognized as a duty, 
she often said she was no Spartan 
mother, and his death from neg- 
lect was much more trying than 
had it been on a field of battle. 
She could never forgive Gen. 
Banks for what she felt was his 
unwise policy in ordering his 
men into a sickly climate in the 
hottest season. She had much, 
however, to console her in the 
report of her poor boy's kindness 
to many of the sick soldiers, 
whom he daily carried to the 
fields where he tried to protect 
them with canvass from the damp 
soil, even after he became so 
49 



•I O II X M I' X R () E 

weak from the same disease that 
it was with difficulty he crawled 
in and out his own tent. 

My poor sister lost all her own 
children, and after their death 
she took the care of her daugh- 
ter's three children till her death 
in !!)()(). She was seventy years of 
age when she hegan a mother's 
charge of her little hoy Clifford 
and his twin sisters, hut she 
took the task with a hearty 
cheerfulness and a real interest 
that no young mother could have 
excelled. She had a great deal 
of taste and for many years 
bought and made all their little 
garments in the most exquisite 
and elaborate style, and never 
seemed happier than when she 
sat and sewed and trimmed 
and embroidered their beautiful 
clothes. As I think of her re- 
markable vivacity, her celerity 
with needlework as her busy 
fingers flew to complete one task 
after another, I cannot but 
realize what her marvellous en- 
ergy achieved and how in her 
way she was a counterpart of 
my father's persistency and spir- 
it. She had outlived all her own 
50 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



children, but in the welfare of 
her little dependent grandchil- 
dren she put the energy of her 
whole heart and soul. Her hus- 
band outlived her by one year, 
when he was laid beside her in 
the Taunton cemetery, where the 
whole immediate family now re- 
pose. The memory of her sweet 
voice as she sang the pretty old 
songs, as the "Messenger Bird," 
"Child Amid the Flowers at 
Play," makes me realize what a 
charm her sweet voice had in the 
days before present methods had 
perverted the pleasure of singing 
into a labored effort in which the 
performer seems rather to agon- 
ize than to sing. 

She was a woman of rare 
sweetness and amiability, with a 
generous nature, never happier 
than when doing some trifling 
aet to give pleasure to others. 
She was remarkably quick and 
clever with her needle, and de- 
lighted in plying her busy fingers 
in making tasteful and useful 
gifts for her family and friends. 
As a child I recall to this day 
a sweet pink silk hat that she 
made for a wax doll my father 
51 



J () II N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

had brought me and my sister 
Carrie from Boston. One of our 
early griefs was that in taking 
a drive with a relative of my 
mother's, who had come for a 
few days, in his carriage his hat 
was taken off by the wind and in 
rescuing it he dropped one rein, 
when the horse sheered onto a 
side embankment on the road, 
tipping the carriage over and in 
the accident breaking our wax 
dolls. As I pass the same place 
at the east end of the village to 
this day I recall what seemed 
then a cruel tragedy ! What is 
the tie that binds our memories 
to the small woes of childhood, 
when between that and maturity 
so much that is more grievous 
heals without a scar and often 
holds not even a lingering mem- 
cry ! What but that youth is 
like wax to receive and marble 
to retain ! 

52 



CHAPTER YI1T. 
First Visit to Boston, 

Centennial, etc. 

Reminiscences 1839. 
A l\ \\ Y tirst visit t0 Boston occurred 

/ VI 1 1 about the time ot my • sister 

11 Louisa's marriage. 1 have 
thought a glimpse of the city 
seventy years ago might at least 
be somewhat amusing. I was the 
only one of the family who had 
never seen a city except New 
Bedford, and my good father de- 
tailed my sister Abby to accom- 
pany me with him to see the 
sights of Boston. We came to 
the city in the packet in the 
month of June. Thei chiefly rec- 
ognizable features now are the 
Park St., King's Chapel and St. 
Paul churches, beside the old 
Chauncey St. church, which stood 
in the spot now Dewey Square. 
There was no Temple Place then, 
only a narrow passage from 
Washington to Tremont Sts., 
where posts with iron chains sep- 
arated the sidewalk from a nar- 
53 



JOHN M U N R E 



row footpath not wide enough for 
vehicles. The Tremont St. dwel- 
ling houses, now business places, 
faced what was called the Mall : 
a hroad avenue surrounding the 
Common, bordered by beautiful 
English elms, a favorite mile 
walk before breakfast for good 
pedestrians. From West St. was 
a block of houses on Tremont 
called Cape Cod Row, so named 
from five Boston residents who 
originated from Barnstable, Dan- 
iel C. Bacon, James Davis, Prince 
Hawes, Thomas Grey and Lemuel 
Shaw. The latter was afterwards 
chief justice of Massachusetts 
and married Hope Savage, daugh- 
ter of the prominent physician of 
Barnstable at that time. The 
Boston Museum was then a new 
attraction and my father took me 
to see the collection of minerals, 
wax statuary and other curios- 
ities on the first floor, while 
above was the theatre, where we 
heard the Raner family of five 
singers in Swedish costumes. 
This troupe was succeeded by the 
Hutchinson family, who after- 
wards went to England and sang 
before the Queen. Subsequently 

f>4 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

the museum was known as a 
famous theatre with a permanent 
stock company and was very pop- 
ular as the best in Boston, where 
its actors produced the old Eng- 
lish drama, such as "The Lady 
of Lyons," "School for Scandal,' 
"She Stoops to Conquer," etc. 
Copeland's was the famous con- 
fectionery store and the only 
place where ice cream could be 
had, and was near Madame Ha- 
ven 's restaurant. 

For the novelty of a ride on 
the steam cars my father took us 
on the road to Cambridge and 
from thence in a chaise to Lex- 
ington to visit my mother's 
cousin Elias Phinney. He was 
living on a beautiful farm, which 
was given a premium as the fin- 
est in Massachusetts. The love- 
ly fruit garden was enclosed by 
a hedge covered with pretty 
vines and foliage ; inside were 
ripening and flourishing the 
fruits of every season. 

Our week's visit in Boston was 
at a boarding house in Milk St., 
where I remember playing on the 
roof with a boy who was making 
firecrackers for the Fourth of 
55 



.1 IT N M U N R O E 



.July. This house was the home 
of my father in his frequent trips 
to town. Later the landlady, 
Mrs. Ripley, removed to Frank- 
lin Place, which was a charming 
street, in the centre of which 
was an oval park with statues 
of some prominent Boston 
worthies. Mrs. Ripley kept a 
most excellent house and was a 
lady of refinement and much 
beauty. This park which was 
opposite her home was destroyed 
by the fire of 1872. Opposite 
on each side lived the families 
of Crowninshield, AVigglesworth 
and other Boston men of note. 

Our return from Boston was in 
the packet on a sunny afternoon 
in June, and though but eight 
years old, I remember the lovely 
sail down Boston harbor. Our 
companions were Mr and Mrs 
James Jenkins and Mr and Mrs 
Walter Bryant, The latter 
couple were making their wed- 
ding trip to Barnstable, where 
they were guests at my father's 

house. 

The same year was the Barn- 
stable Centennial celebration, 
September 8, 18:}i). On the eve 
56 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

of the event occurred what was 
known (and is now) as the Great 
Centennial gale, which extended 
the length of Cape Cod coast. 
My memory of it is impressed by 
a severe cut my father received 
in his hand, in attempting to se- 
cure from destruction a row of 
young trees he had just planted. 
These were the large Abeles 
which remained till another 
notable gale in 1898, nearly six- 
ty years after, when the Port- 
land was lost, so battered that 
they menaced the highway, and 
the whole ten trees my dear 
father had planted were hewn 
down. All that remains of them 
are the two stumps on either side 
of the carriage gate which are 
covered with vines. 

To revert to the celebration. 
It brought many distinguished 
people to the old town, some 
of whom were lineal descend- 
ants of Barnstable families. 
Gorham Palfrey, who was one 
of its lineage, was the pres- 
ident, and Edward Everett was 
the orator of the day. In a 
pamphlet in my possession which 
records the event, it is stated that 

57 



JOHN M U N R E 



tie held his audience spell-bound 
by his eloquence for two hours 

and a half. As the day was raw 
and chilly and the church so 
overflowed with listeners that 
many of the audience were 
obliged to stand outside on a 
temporary staging against the 
open windows, this statement is a 
very creditable testimony to the 
patience and long-suffering of the 
people seventy years ago. 

The town was packed to over- 
flowing with guests, and every 
nook and corner was utilized to 
hold them. Our own house was 
occupied with friends and rela- 
tives, and my father offered our 
parlors as a camping ground for 
stranded people, who were thank- 
ful for a sofa or chair even to 
rest upon. Before night the 
weather softened and doors were 
wide opened and all the crowd 
were made welcome and comfort- 
able. The occasion ended with 
a grand ball, which was honored 
by the presence of the orators 
and other distinguished guests of 
the day. The Court house was 
utilized for the occasion by an 
extended pavilion, temporarily 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

built as a grand ball room. It 
was lighted by oil lamps placed 
on brackets of eagles, highly 
gilded, beside endless candles, 
which made the room bright- 
ly illuminated. The ball was 
repeated the following night, 
with the same cotillion band and 
the presence of many left-over 
guests. This second evening the 
younger people were allowed to 
attend. 1 was eight years old, 
hut remember to this day my 
dress of white muslin, blue 
sash and blue hair ribbons, with 
which I was decked. The young- 
er children were allowed to stay 
till nine o'clock, which was ;i 
riotous dissipation for those days, 
when as youngest of the family 
I hardly ever had seen the moon. 
As I remember, my great 
amusement was seeing my older 
sisters dress for the first ball. 
They entertained as a guest a 
tall dark lady with red cheeks 
and black eyes, who decked her- 
self in a white satin, with pearl 
and diamond ornaments, and who 
I remember was, with her beauty, 
brilliancy and fine clothes, con- 
sidered one of the belles of the 

59 



JOHN M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

ball. Her name was Mercy- 
Perry, sister of the popular Dr. 
Perry of Boston fifty years (or 
more) ago. 

The town had a glorious birth- 
day party, and thirty years hence 
may some of my younger nieces 
and nephews be there to celebrate 
its next. 

60 




CHAPTER IX. 

Saving's Bank. 

MUST go back a little to recall 
what became to my father the 
most satisfactory work of his 
life. Coming to Barnstable as 
a stranger, and having a natural 
instinct of good citizenship, he 
looked about to discover what, he 
could do for the community. This 
was in 1831. His business as the 
only clock and watch repairer in 
the county brought him in con- 
tact with the people in all parts 
of the Cape, and after establish- 
ing his business scarcely a day 
passed that the stages did not 
stop before his little shop, bring- 
ing him work from Provin ?etown 
to Falmouth. There was no public 
communication in any other way, 
express agents, etc., not having 
existed till twenty-five years 
after, when first appointed by 
the railroad company. 

On the south side of Barnstable 
lived a large proportion of the 
seafaring class, most of whom 
were coasters and fishermen, he- 

61 



JOHN M U N R E 

sides many who were captains of 
ships in the Merchant line of 
foreign voyages. The occupation 

of the majority of young men 
was in summer, while in winter 
they were much of their time 
idle. With the generous and 
pleasure-loving disposition char- 
acteristic of young men who were 
chiefly sailors, the temptation 
was to spend much of their time 
in driving and other amusements, 
and so consuming most of the 
summer's earnings, and so my 
father reasoned that Barnstable 
was the place for a savings bank. 
For this purpose he called ;i 
meeting of the citizens of Barn- 
stable village and proposed Ins 
plan. They came together in 
cordial response to the call, and 
formed a corporation of twelve 
men. They applied to the legis- 
lature for a charter, which was 
easily granted, and made my 
father treasurer. The names of 
the men were David Crocker, 
Ebenezer Bacon, Timothy Reed, 
Enoch T. Cobb, Loring Crocker. 
Nathan Crocker, Lothrop Davis, 
Josiah Hinckley, Henry Crocker. 
(i2 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Barnabas Chipman, Isaac Davis, 
Thomas Percival. 

The nearest savings bank at 
the time was at Plymouth, which 
had a deposit of thirty thousand 
dollars, and while the Barnstable 
Institution for Savings, as it was 
called, did not expect to compete 
with the Plymouth, they hoped 
to succeed. Enough to say that 
when my father resigned his of- 
fice, after forty years of service, 
the hank had a deposit of one 
million and a half of dollars. It 
is to his credit that though there 
was a hoard of investment, they 
gave the whole responsibility to 
my father, and in no case where 
he followed exclusively his own 
judgment did he ever lose a 
dollar. In the making of notes, 
he required beside the legal de- 
mand of three names, that of 
collateral security to the full 
amount of the loan. 

The bank, after the first few 
years, paid six, seven and eight 
per cent. This was before the 
legislature had passed restrictive 
laws on savings bank dividends, 
which has been done in late 
years. The success of this enter- 

63 



J H N M T N K () E 

prise was the pride and chief in- 
terest of his life. He labored to 
encourage the young men in 
neighboring villages to deposit 
in small sums, and so enable 
them to build houses and own 
their homes. Sometimes he made 
small mortgages, which he al- 
lowed them to pay at intervals 
as they could. Frequently he 
was rewarded by being told with 
gratitude which they expressed 
that for their homes they were 
indebted to him, which was the 
only reward he coveted. 

Thus the Barnstable savings 
bank was pronounced by the com- 
missioners, who made their tri- 
annual visits for examination of 
the County banks, to have an 
A 1 record, much to my father's 
delight and satisfaction. He did 
all the clerical work of the bank 
till 1859, when, on account part- 
ly of my sister Abby's marriage, 
he was obliged to have a clerk. 
She had always been his right 
hand assistant, auditing his ac- 
counts with him when his annual 
report was made, and in his ab- 
sence in Boston was often called 
upon to pay off interest, receive 
(i4 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

deposits and help in many other 
ways. 

The first year or two of the 
bank's existence he had no pay 
at all. After awhile he took fifty 
dollars, and though the work in- 
creased and hindered his own 
work, the salary was never above 
three hundred a year. In 1859, 
when he was obliged to have a 
clerk, the trustees allowed him 
fifteen hundred dollars. He gave 
the thousand to his clerk and 
took the five hundred himself, 
continuing this while he kept' his 
office, making his trips to Bos- 
ton and making all investments 
on his own responsibility. If he 
had the smallest errands to do 
for himself at the same time he 
paid expenses from his own 
pocket. lie kept the office in 
his workshop, till in 1857 the cor- 
poration erected for an office the 
building facing Railroad avenue, 
where he continued till his res- 
ignation in 1871, after having 
held the position of treasurer and 
done its work for forty years. 

In 1860, the first day of Janu- 
ary, the corporation presented 
him a silver pitcher and salver, 

65 



J O II N M l T N R O E 

engraved with a testimonial of 
thanks for his faithful and long- 
continued service as treasurer. 
At the presentation of this gift 
Ins friends were quite amused at 
the modest tone of his acceptance 
of their gift, in which he ex- 
pressed himself as quite un- 
worthy such a valuable gift in 
return for his services. No one 
could realize, save his own fam- 
ily, what the interests of his one 
beloved hank meant to him, and 
how next to their own welfare 
it was his life's one great pride 
and pleasure. On his retirement 
as treasurer, they courteously 
made him president of the sav- 
ings hank, hut as the office 
meant no special active participa- 
tion in its interest, time hung 
rather heavily on his hands, and 
for the first time in his life after 
his winter of leisure, he ex- 
pressed a feeling of discontent 
and proposed we should all go 
to Cambridge for the winter. He 
was then eighty-eight years of 
age, as I might say eighty-eight 
years young, for his vigor and 
interest in life had never abated, 
66 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

and never did abate up to the 
very day of his death. 

In his ninetieth year, after we 
had gone to Cambridge, he was 
one bitter cold day walking 
briskly as usual with one of my 
brothers-in-law, when suddenly 
he stopped and said to him, 
' William, do I walk too fast for 
you?" much to the amusement of 
William. 

When in his eighty-sixth year 
he executed in one day an 
amount of work which I am sure 
most young men now would have 
considered beyond them. He 
started in the early train for 
Boston, wishing for certain rea- 
sons to return at night. His trip 
included collecting all his div- 
idends on bank stock, where most 
investments were made. This 
was before the invention of el- 
evators, when it involved climb- 
ing up and down many flights of 
stairs in high buildings, though 
not as high as now. However, it 
was a tiresome effort. He had 
occasion to make a mortgage, and 
to prove the title he must go to 
East Cambridge to examine the 
record. On returning he was 

67 



JOHN M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

doubtful about its validity, and 
to make assurance doubly sure 
be went a second time. He re- 
turned about tbree to Boston to 
take the train, when he went into 
Cornhill to buy a fire set of 
tongs, shovel and poker on an 
iron standard. He hurried to 
catch a car and after placing his 
heavy articles on the platform, 
jumped on himself after the car 
had started. He arrived at Barn- 
stable after dark and finding no 
carriage at the station, brought 
his heavy iron load all the way 
to his door in his hand. 
68 




CHAPTER X. 

Cambridge. 

Anniversary Days, 

Father's Birthday. 

N the resignation of his office 
at the savings bank, his family 
were quite apprehensive of the 
effect upon him of the sudden 
relinquishing his busy life's 
work, but he was not the man 
to falter at any duty, however 
great the sacrifice. My brother's 
solicitude lest that at his age 
some mistake might occur was 
finally his chief reason for re- 
signing his work. He accepted 
the inevitable with cheerfulness 
of spirit and a determination to 
overcome the reluctance to give 
up his life's work. 

The summer passed pleasantly, 
for a large place employed his 
care and time, and he seemed to 
be enjoying life in a leisurely 
way quite contrary to his usual 
custom. In pleasant days I re- 
call him sitting in his chair in 
the front door yard at the foot 
69 



J II N M U N R E 



of the steps, with my mother al- 
ways beside him, both pictures of 
happy and peaceful old age. 
Books were an everlasting source 
of his pleasure, and in long sum- 
mer days when he rose at sun- 
rise, he would come to his break- 
fast with some historical fact to 
relate, as the result of his morn- 
ing study. He never failed after 
breakfast in reading a chapter 
from his Bible, followed by a 
short prayer. 

I have often felt, had he been 
in his right place he would have 
entered the ministry, for I do 
believe he had a more detailed 
knowledge of his Bible than 
many ministers. He would often 
criticize the mistakes made in the 
pulpit, and I heard him say 
in present times some of them 
studied everything but their 
Bible. I should say he might be 
called a Bible scholar. His Com- 
mentaries, encyclopoedias and 
various books and notes of ref- 
erence which he always kept by 
him are still in the house, and 
bring him constantly to my mem- 
ory where they are kept as our 
best treasures. When in Cam- 
70 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

bridge he attended with my sister 
an adult Bible class, whose teach- 
er was a professor in the Divinity 
school. At one meeting my 
father questioned the authority 
of a quotation the professor made, 
to which the professor replied 
"I should not think of contra- 
dicting a gentleman of your age, 
but will look it up." The fol- 
lowing week he informed the 
class my father was right. It 
was with a natural pride that 
my sister liked to tell of this. 
He was at this time past ninety. 
His proposal to go to Cam- 
bridge for the winter was the 
first intimation that time hung 
heavily on his hands, but the win- 
ter had been one of discontent, 
though never was a word of that 
expressed. He had previously 
bought a house in Cambridge for 
my sister Jane and her family, 
and to have a winter home for 
him and his family of four 
seemed to him as the happiest 
event to look forward to. His 
dear daughter Jane, with her 
large heart and motherly nature, 
accepted the proposition with her 
usual hospitable spirit, and to 
71 



J () UN M TT N R O E 

my father it seemed the happiest 
possible event (as it proved) to 
live under the same root' with her 
family. Though he never would 
admit the thought of any par- 
tiality towards his children, I can 
realize how it compensated much 
in the loss of his work to he with 
her. He took his daily trip into 
town in pleasant days, where he 
met old husiness friends, and re- 
turned to the cheerful evenings 
in her parlor, where assemhled 
with her children and friends, 
varied by a game of cards, music 
and chat of the younger ones, 
his days glided pleasantly on. 1 
am sure then had he known he 
should pass away under her 
friendly roof he would have felt 
nothing better could happen to 
him. 

The year following he sug- 
gested renewing the carpets in 
our house in Barnstable, and took 
as lively an interest in buying 
them as if he were beginning his 
life again. He would have 
nothing but the very best five- 
body English Brussels, and the 
same carpets arc now on the 
floor where they were placed 

72 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

thirty-six years ago. He was 
specially eager at the same time 
that the pretty needlework of my 
clear mother's hands should be 
preserved, so the footrests and 
chair seats, her dear handiwork, 
stand upon the carpet, and were 
duly christened by his nintieth 
birthday party, of which I will 
tell in another chapter. 

Our anniversary days were the 
birthdays of my mother and 
father and Thanksgiving days. 
These were occasions of family 
reunions and of special interest 
at all times, Thanksgiving as a 
rule kept in the paternal home, 
and Xmas at New Bedford. The 
family, however large, was never 
too large to please my father, 
who was wont to say in his earn- 
est tone that his happiest time 
was when his children were all 
gathered around the family table. 

At Xmas all were invited to 
New Bedford, where my brother 
in the same hospitable spirit wel- 
comed us heartily. The united 
relatives of my brother's wife, 
who had a large family connec- 
tion, all joined, often made a 
party of over fifty guests. In 
73 * 



JOHN M U N R E 



the evening more young people 
came in, and games, dancing and 
general hilarity reigned. 

The trains to New Bedford 
from the Cape were less contin- 
uous than now, and we had two 
long waits on the journey, when 
my brother never failed to come 
out from New Bedford to the 
junction to meet his dear father, 
mother and sisters, escorting us 
to the large, beautifully lighted 
house, where its attractive rooms, 
open fires and hospitable greet- 
ing awaited us. The Xmas time 
often tempted us to extend our 
visit, when great surprises that 
the trees contained, with numer- 
ous guests, added another anni- 
versary jubilee, the recollection 
of which is kept by the first gold 
watch, or first gold thimble, etc., 
which are still in preservation. 

On another anniversary, our 
Thanksgiving was kept at Yar- 
mouthport, where my sister Susan 
and her family joined us in the 
generous welcome given by our 
dear brother James Knowlcs and 
my sister Carrie. Our last 
Thanksgiving was at Cambridge, 
where my brother James, sisters 
74 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Susan, Jane and Louisa were in- 
vited to meet in my sister Jane's 
cheerful home. This was in 1873, 
and if my memory faithfully 
serves was the last Thanksgiving 
party held during my father's 
life, or indeed ever after. Loss 
of many grandchildren and vari- 
ous events in the family which 
saddened their spirit had made 
it easier to omit than observe, 
while ic has ever been true that 
the same affectionate family love 
still binds the few that are left 
in closest affection, as when the 
circle narrows we come nearer 
together. 

1 come now to my father's nine- 
tieth birthday, which occurred 
October 11, ' 1894. The event 
came on Sunday and was one of 
those ideal and perfect days 
when summer, loth to leave, 
turns back to retrieve in sunshine 
and glow a loving smile of fare- 
well. Early in the morning came 
friends with their gifts of fruit, 
flowers and various other accep- 
table tokens. The whole family 
were assembled and most of them 
accompanied my father to church, 
where the minister in his sermon 
75 



J O H N M U N R O E 

paid a tribute to him in a few 
brief but fitting words. In the 
evening our rooms were filled 
with kindly friends and neigh- 
bors who brought congratulations 
in many cordial expressions of 
respect and affection, giving him 
a heart-felt pleasure which for 
the rest of his few years was a 
memory he loved to revert to. 
Such was the enthusiasm and 
pleasure with which he accepted 
life with all that he did or 
thought or enjoyed, that a con- 
sciousness of age, infirmity, or 
indeed any of the ills physical 
or mental which long life often 
brings, was never expressed or 
apparent to himself or others. 
After we went to Cambridge, in 
the long evenings of music, to 
the chat of the younger people 
with their games and interests, 
he listened with eagerness and 
pleasure, and was often the last 
one to retire. His love for music 
was quite remarkable. He never 
liked what was loud and noisy, 
but to classic music he was the 
most eager listener, and once 
when asked if he was not tired 
of it he answered in his en- 

7<i 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

thusiastic way, "Oh no! I could 
never tire of music like that" — 
"that" happening to be Beetho- 
ven's Fifth Symphony. 

77 




CHAPTER XT. 

Barre Days. 

HE town of Barre was an inter- 
esting one, and had a personal 
attraction as being the home 
of my sister Susan and her 
family for many years. I have 
thought a chapter from its pages 
might interest my younger nieces 
and nephews. As all the family 
at various times spent weeks and 
months there it is still held in 
affectionate memory. Tt is one 
of the beautiful hill towns 
in central Massachusetts, about 
one hundred and forty miles 
from Barnstable, and took, in 
the days of stage coach trav- 
elling, a day and a half to com- 
pass the journey. As the dis- 
tance then seemed very much 
farther than now, my mother al- 
ways felt some one of us must 
be with my sister constantly, who 
was so far away from us all. 
The town was not only charming- 
ly situated, but had many social 
attractions and advantages un- 
usual to many country towns 
' 78 



J H N M U N R O E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

today. One of its early educa- 
tional advantages was a state 
normal school, which, placed 
upon one of its highest hills, was 
quite a prominent landmark. 
Finely educated men and women 
who managed it added materially 
to the social attractions, as well 
as many agreeable women and 
men who sought its professional 
advantages. 

The town of Barre itself had a 
delightful society of well-bred, 
cultivated people, among whom 
especially was a family of 
Thompsons, the head of whom 
was Rev. James Thompson, min- 
ister of the Unitarian church for 
more than fifty years. His 
daughters married in the place 
and were naturally leading fam- 
ilies. Two brothers, prominent 
lawyers in Worcester, were 
Franklin and Augustus Bryant, 
the younger of whom married a 
daughter of the old doctor, one 
of whose children now lives in 
Boston. Dr. Thompson's only 
son was also a Unitarian minister 
who was pastor of the Salem 
Parish for many years, and later 

79 



J O II N M U N \l () E 



the church at Jamaica Plain now 
held by Rev. Charles F. Dole. 
Other Barre men, Gorhams, Rob- 
insons, Mandells, Woods, were 
men who have made their mark 
in mercantile and professional 
life in Boston and other cities. 
What with the charming 
position of the town with its 
green hills, beautiful scenery and 
social advantages, it was natural- 
ly one of the most attractive in 
Central Massachusetts. The cen- 
tral point of business was Barre 
Common, so called. This was a 
lovely green park which Avas 
encircled by many private resi- 
dences, the hotel, business offices 
and stoics. Roads diverged in 
all directions from the Common, 
whence delightful drives to 
Petersham, Athol, Ware and 
various other towns constantly at- 
tracted pleasure seekers and busi- 
ness men also. In winter when 
sleighing was the regular pas- 
time, the hills were even more 
charming. The town with its 
large society of young men and 
women, though alert and busy, 
was not too occupied to find time 
for much pleasuring. A few 

80 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

miles from the Village Centre 
were beautiful farms with big, 
attractive houses, always open to 
friends and abounding in old- 
fashioned hospitality. My mem- 
ory reverts to bright moonlight 
evenings when sleighs with their 
jingling bells went dancing over 
the white hills to some brightly 
lighted farm house, where around 
the big open wood fires we 
cracked nuts (and jokes), drank 
eider, ate apples, sung songs, told 
stories and finished with a moon- 
light ride home over the crack- 
ling snow. 

Another attractive resort in 
summer was the Falls. This was 
a romantic spot, where over the 
green fields we walked through 
shady woods to this pretty valley, 
down which rushed this bound- 
ing waterfall, ending in a pretty 
brook whose green path we 
followed to fields beyond. It 
was always apparently an easy 
matter to muster a party of fif- 
teen or twenty gentlemen and 
ladies on a bright morning for a 
walk across the fields to the 
Falls. So cordial was the spirit 
81 



.1 O H N M U N R O E 



of the people that the least ex- 
cuse, like the arrival of a 
stranger for a short visit, was 
a signal for every possible social 
pleasure to be thought of. 

My sister Abby loved to tell 
of a delightful week's trip in a 
small stage coach with two gen- 
tlemen and two ladies, when at 
their own time and pleasure they 
travelled through the Connecti- 
cut valley, stopping at any little 
hotel as they journeyed in a 
leisurely sauntering way, taking 
in all the beauties of the scenery 
varied with glimpses of the 
pretty rivers and lakes. They 
stopped at some Wayside Inn at 
night, where they rested their 
horses and themselves till morn- 
ing. Especially remembered was 
a call at Deerfield. Three of the 
party were musicians, one of the 
ladies the leading soprano in a 
Worcester church, and at mid- 
night they strolled out into the 
village, giving the drowsy old 
town such a waking up as it 
never had before. A pleas- 
ant incident in their trip was 
a call on Dr. Washburn of 
82 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Brattleboro. He was a relative 
of the Thompson family and 
lived just over the border line 
between Massachusetts and Ver- 
mont. This point was the Gretna 
Green (so called) because persons 
wishing to be married could do 
so by crossing the division line 
without publishing. In the first 
hall' of the 18th century the 
legal requirement was that an 
intention of marriage in Massa- 
chusetts was to be published two 
weeks before the event. This 
notice was usually placed in the 
vestibule of the church by the 
town clerk, from whom the mar- 
riage certificate was obtained. 
This publishment was evaded, if 
desired, by going out of the 
state, if only across the border 
line, which was the exact position 
of Dr. Washburn's house. One 
summer day on a pleasure drive 
two of the party suggested as a 
joke to play the game of mar- 
riage. They did so, and when 
the doctor took his pen to write 
their certificate and was in- 
formed the marriage was "in 
fun," he very gravely said, "You 
8Q 

Oil 



J II N M U N R O E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



are legally married and must get 
yourselves out of the dilemma as 
best you can" — a wise rebuke 
for their inane foolery. 

84 




CHAPTER XII. 

Mother. 

N continuing this sketch of my 
father's life, to omit a word of 
my dear mother would be an 
injustice to her and to him ; 
for indeed she was the joy and 
pleasure of his life and the home 
life of us all. In consequence 
of her deafness, that he should 
assume every possible responsibil- 
ity was a matter of course in 
which he never failed and im- 
pressed upon us to do likewise. 
I rejoice to realize his wishes 
were eagerly responded to, and 
in all household cares each took 
her turn in their time, especially 
in the housekeeping. 

I recall her sweet face with the 
pretty soft lace cap and white 
hair, sitting in her armchair at 
the sunny window from which 
her bright eyes saw from the 
street every new comer with a 
quickened vision from the loss of 
her hearing. Especially on the 
arrival of a stranger her keen 
eyesight, and insight with a sort 



.1 () II N M U N R O E 

of sixth sense us well, summed 
up their character. For instance, 
in one of her letters to me when 
absent, she writes: "The new 
minister has arrived. I saw him 
pass on his way to church this 
morning and am afraid he will 
not be quite as gallant to the 
ladies as the Mr. W. who has 
just left town." She often 
amused us with her quickness in 
detecting- when any scheme of 
mischief was in the air, and 
would say, "You needn't think 
I don't know what you are plan- 



ning now 



She delighted in fancy work, 
and most of her last days were 
employed in making little gifts 
for anybody and everybody who 
happened in. Her work was 
done with a fineness and care 
that would easily eclipse the best 
work of today, when machines 
have outlived and demoralized 
that accomplishment. My father 
took great pride in her pretty 
handiwork, and indeed in every 
way gave her the same tender 
care which he exercised towards 
his children. In early days 
when the children were ill, he 

86 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

always cared for us at night, 
which, with his busy life and fre- 
quent ill health, was, alter a 
day's work at his bench, no 
slight task. 

.My mother had a dear love of 
flowers, and my lather's first 
thought in spring was for her 
garden. She had a special love 
of roses, and the first one that 
bloomed was put at my father's 
plate at the breakfast table. She 
loved to weed and gather her 
flowers with her own hands, and 
sometimes planted her seeds, 
when everything seemed to bloom 
for her and her small pretty bed 
was bright with flowers. 

Here I wish to remind my 
nieces and nephews that the 
white rose bush now in the rear 
of the Barnstable house is a root 
from the same bush which was 
in the front yard when I was a 
child. It was taken originally 
from a tree in Dr. Savage 's yard 
of what is now the Davis house 
two doors west of the Baptist 
church. Tt was given to my 
mother by Hope Savage, her old 
schoolmate and friend, who at 
the same time together learned 
87 



.) () H N M U N R O E 



the beautiful Moss, needlework, a 
piece of which hangs in the 
sitting room in Barnstable with 
the inscription below, "Wrought 
by -Nancy Phinney." Hope Sav- 
age became the second wife of 
Chief Justice Shaw, and occasion- 
ally accompanied her husband to 
Barnstable to hold court. She 
always came to see my mother, 
and it was very pleasant to hear 
the two old ladies call each other 
Ilopey and Nancy, and talk over 
their school day friendship to- 
gether. Recently his son Oakes 
Shaw, who bore his grandfather's 
name, was a summer resident of 
Barnstable, and he said to me, 
in reviewing old-time incidents, 
"Did you know that your mother 
and mine were considered the 
prettiest girls in Barnstable?" 
Of course to lieu children my 
mother was the most beautiful 
woman in the world. Every 
child's mother probably is, but 
a picture of her taken at eighty 
three years of age, 1 think, would 
confirm the fact that she had 
much real beauty. If so was it 
not the reflection of a beautiful 
soul, chastened by long years of 
88 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



deafness and sad deprivation? 
Throughout all her life she never 
heard the voices of her children, 
and this was only one of the 
numerous pleasures denied her. 
In the face of all this never to 
have spoken a cross or impatient 
word, hut always with a sunny 
smile to have greeted her chil- 
dren and friends, meant wonder- 
ful self control. 

Her hahit was to attend church 
in her early days, hut as she 
could not hear a word of the ser- 
mon or, service the duty was irk- 
some, and at last she remained 
at home, quietly keeping her 
Sunday in the stillness of her 
room, with one of her favorite 
hooks, an old volume of Doctor 
Orville Dewey's sermons, of 
which she never seemed to tire 
down to the last days of her life. 
As I recall the young days when 
she did go, how lovely it was in 
summer, when I went to church 
dressed in my white dress, a 
damask rose pinned to my waist, 
with my father and mother, hold- 
ing them with each hand hy the 
way. My father in the week was 
such a busy man and my mother 
89 



JOHN M U N R E 

so totally deaf, they seldom went 
anywhere together save to church. 
My father's evening was al- 
ways by his fireside. Their 
picture hangs still in memory as 
I see them with silvered hair and 
pleasant faces, each irv their own 
chairs and places year in and 
year out. (Occasionally my mother 
would say, "Now Father, you 
ought to take your hat and cane 
and call on the minister;" he 
would always nod assent and say, 
"Yes, I must go," hut he never 
went. In the afternoon we took 
our Sunday school books and 
dolls, and with Mother and 
Father went into the fields. Sun- 
day evening was devoted to sing- 
ing, and though that was before 
the days of a piano, my sister 
Louisa especially sang the old 
sweet melodies of "Child Amid 
the Flowers at Play, " " The Mes- 
senger Bird," "Come to the Sun- 
set Tree" — old English songs, 
past and gone save to the mem- 
ory of a few — very few — who 
can recall them. In this connec- 
tion I must repeat what has 
seemed to hecome a truism of 
the church-going habit — that its 

90 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



compulsory attendance is the 
plea for non observance today. 
As I think of it after many years 
it seems a far-off delight. The 
modern Sunday has endless re- 
sources the past knew little of, 
since games and certain other 
recreations arc not now, as for- 
merly, considered sacriligious. 
Sunday ought to he the happiest 
of the week days and yet he 
kept with a consciousness that it 
is so, and always should be made 
thus to the young. In a min- 
ister's family where I was in- 
timate many years since, there 
was always some plan to make it 
different — a pleasant surprise on 
the tea table, a drive or recre- 
ation of any kind such as music, 
or something the children them- 
selves plan and prepare for that 
time especially. It might seem 
stupid and dull to the society 
mothers, but a loving, sensible 
woman who wishes to bring her 
family up to be good men and 
women cannot fail to find some 
recreation in which she herself 
would be a leader or an inter- 
ested partaker. 

91 




CHAPTER XIII. 

Hospitality. 

T was the custom in olden times, 
when travelling was not as 
easy as it has been for the last 
quarter of a century, to enter- 
tain as an act of courtesy the 
various travelling temperance 
and other lecturers, who often 
came at their own expense, or 
who were compensated merely by 
the payment of their travelling 
expenses. As my father was 
notably a temperance man, it de- 
volved upon him often to enter- 
tain the lecturers at our house. 
At this arrangement my impres- 
sion is that mother did not go 
wild with enthusiasm, especially 
when she was obliged to give 
her best chamber to some re- 
formed drunkard, whose personal 
habits had not experienced a 
change of heart. After a visit 
from one of these Bohemians she 
asserted herself and declared 
that her pretty white muslin-cur- 
tained bedstead (her pet pride) 
should not be desecrated again, 
!)2 



J UN M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



and my father cheerfully in- 
formed her she should have her 
own way. 

Years after, one winter after- 
noon, just about twilight, in a 
fearful blizzard, a man knocked 
at our dining room door and 
asked if a stranded traveller 
might have a night's lodging. 
Forgetting everything but his 
hospitable impulse, Father said, 
'•Certainly, sir," and in the man 
walked. My father asked him 
his name, and, with it the strang- 
er gave the information that he 
was a Methodist minister who 
was taking a pedestrian tour 
through the Cape. I was the 
only one of the family at home 
just then, and when Father in- 
formed us of the liberty lie had 
taken, Mother whispered to me 
that he was, probably some high- 
wayman who might murder us 
all in our beds. However, he 
proved to be quite a cheery old 
gentleman with a good appetite, 
and after a generous supper my 
father and he, with a howling 
storm outside, sat up till nearly 
midnight, when this angel una- 
93 



.1 () II N M U N R O E 



wares entertained my father who 
in the morning parted from him 
with a God Mess you and a 
cheery goodhye. 

The only time 1 ever knew my 
father to turn the cold shoulder 
was onee years after, and then 
it was to a female. One summer 
evening after a hot day, when we 
were all sitting at open windows 
or out of doors, there walked up 
the yard a tall woman with a 
loud voice who addressed my 
father with, "How do you do, 
Messmate?" My father rose in 
his courteous way, hut in a tone 
which we understood said, "Par- 
don me, but I do not recognize 
you, madam." She insisted that 
she knew him as a young man 
and attended his wedding, and 
that she had stopped on her wax- 
to Nantucket to make him a visit. 
As our house was full of visitors 
he politely said he could not en- 
tertain her. When she gave him 
her maiden name he repeated 
with the same decisive tone, "I 
never saw or heard of you 
before." However, he put on his 
hat and walked with her to the 
hotel where she was landed for 
04 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

the night, and the next morning, 
to make assurance doubly sure, 
lie escorted her to the train and 
presented her with a ticket to 
Nantucket. The fun my mother 
got out of this episode was worth 
the price of the ticket, and it was 
some time before she could get 
over the joke, which my father 
after awhile enjoyed quite as 
much as she did. 

Our visitors, young and old, 
my father delighted in even more 
than we, and however long they 
stayed or how crowded our house 
was, he was never quite ready to 
say goodbye to them. A visit 
from three young ladies in Barre 
from slight misunderstanding 
came at a time when I was ill 
with typhoid fever. They were 
• harming girls and attracted 
some delightful young men, 
whose Landau with a pair of 
horses and colored groom stood 
before our door every pleasant 
day for two weeks. There was 
no end to the fun they had, and 
each day they regaled me with 
their various excursions to neigh- 
boring towns, where on the 
borders of the pretty lakes they 
95 



J () II N M U N R <) E 

took their picnics, varied with 
games in the bowling alleys, and 
then had the drive home with tea 
and music in the evening at our 
house. We thought our house 
rather small at the time, but hos- 
pitality must have broadened it, 
for Saturday evening when the 
last stage coach of the week 
came in, two of my brothers-in- 
law unexpectedly arrived, hut a 
room was found as large as the 
welcome they brought. 

I would not give an impression 
that the hospitable spirit no 
longer exists; now the, large 
things look small, then the small 
pleasures looked large. Since 
the days of millionaires the hor- 
oscope of life has changed, 
though happily the vision of late 
is becoming normal and its 
satisfactions (the durable ones, 
so called from our renowned 
authority, C. W. E.) are found 
from within, rather than from 
without. A measure of happiness 
within tin' reach of all is in the 
fulfillment of tasks that come to 
us daily always in a spirit of 
love, never in doubt or fear — 
96 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

the best and highest truth which 
the new thought has evolved but 
really is as old as the world 
itself. 

97 




CHAPTER XIV. 

Marriages, 

1850-51, 

James' Family. 

HE years 1850 and 51 were 
marked by important changes. 
My sister Jane's marriage oc- 
curred in November, 1850, and 
that of my sisters Sarah and 
Caroline in 1851. In the spring 
of 1850 my brother Albert Alden 
was appointed inspector of cus- 
toms in Boston, and removed 
with his family to East Cam- 
bridge, where they lived until his 
death in 1883. While a pleasure 
to have them nearer the old 
home, this removal ended our 
pleasant visits to Barre. The 
first three years of my sister 
•lane's life at Sandwich so near 
to us were very agreeable to her 
and to us. My father had' many 
business friends there who gave 
my sister a cordial welcome, and 
it was memorable as the birth- 
place of her eldest son, our little 
Charlie as we loved to call him. 

98 



.1 O H N M U N K E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



From thence she removed to 
Taunton, and about a year after 
to Cambridge, in 1859, where she 
lived till the time of her death 
in 1888. 

The death of all my brother 
James's children, of my sister 
Susan's and my sister Louisa's, 
and all of my sister Jane's save 
one is a difficult problem to 
solve. What with antecedents of 
unusually good constitution, care- 
ful training and with every best 
chance of improving their health, 
by travelling and skillful medical 
advice, that they should have 
been outlived by parents whose 
years were fully the sum allotted 
to men, is one of life's mysteries. 
One of my sister Susan's children 
came to an accidental death; the 
other two died in consumption. 
My sister Louisa's children all 
died from natural causes. My 
brother's children also died from 
consumption. 

John Munroe, my brother's 
oldest son, was named for his 
grandfather. He was unusually 
handsome and joined his father 
in business, whose pride and de- 



.] () II N M V N R O E 



light he was. He inherited from 
his maternal grandfather a 
mechanical taste and was skillful 
and clever in his work, which was 
developed in the making a 
chronometer. He presented it to 
the Washington observatory and 
for it he received from Prof. 
Bond a medal, which delighted 
his father and mother. He died 
at the age of twenty-five in con- 
sumption, and was soon followed 
hy my brother's only daughter at 
twenty-four. She bore her grand- 
mother's and my name, and as 
the only daughter was idolized 
by her parents. Nancy Elizabeth 
was a small, bright-eyed girl, 
with a buoyant temperament and 
a brilliant mind. Hei' father ed- 
ucated her at a private French 
school in New York, where she 
was taught to speak the language 
of the French teacher, and where 
she finished her musical educa- 
tion. After she left school she 
spent a winter in Philadelphia, 
whither she went to avoid the 
harsh New England climate. At 
a piano recital of professional 
pianists at the hotel she took 
the palm as the fim-st player. 
1(H) 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Her death occurred) about a year 
and a half after this, and was 
followed by that of her brother 
James, who had long been an in- 
valid. Tbis loss left my brother 
with only one child living, his 
son Russell, the youngest of the 
family. He seemed to be in good 
health for some years, and at Ids 
request my brother established a 
business in Boston. He married 
and took rooms at one of the 
apartment hotels, where he lived 
with his young wife in the enjoy- 
ment of his health and work for 
some few years. A hoarseness 
seized him, which proved to be 
the beginning of the end. By 
his physician's advice he went 
to Rangely Lakes in the interior 
of Maine, and his health seemed 
visibly to improve. But a feel- 
ing of homesickness sent him 
back to Massachusetts, where he 
came to his old New Bedford 
home. He took a slight cold ap- 
parently on the journey and died 
in his father's house three days 
after his return. Such was the 
pitiful history of my brother's 
and his wife's experience. A few 
years after my brother was called 
101 



.1 () II N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 



to part with his wife, who died 
of cancer. My poor brother lived 
to find himself a lonely man 
in his beautiful home, where he 
received from faithful servants 
and the attention of his son's 
wife untiring devotion to his 
physical wants. 

So ended the sad story of a 
man whose generous impulses 
and affectionate nature brought 
him many kind friends on whom 
he showered his gifts with a 
warm heart and open hand. 
Nothing more desolate could have 
been than the icy cold day when 
he was taken to the cemetery to 
sleep beside the wife and four 
children he so dearly loved. 
102 




CHAPTER XV. 

Politics. 

HAVE said nothing of my 
father's political views, though 
it is quite likely they were far 
from negative. He was too 
busy to enter practically into 
political life had he been inclined, 
but my impression is that he was 
conservative and in days before 
the war voted the Whig ticket. 
I am sure he disapproved of 
slavery, though two years of win- 
ter in Virginia gave him the op- 
portunity to see the patriarchal 
and picturesque side of the ques- 
tion, which was its best side. 
While he decried the moral view 
of the system lie felt it as 
demoralizing to the slave holder 
as it was wrong to the slave. 
Especially did he feel it was a 
wrong to the women as well as 
to the men. He described the 
Southern women as indolent, lux- 
urious and free from any sense of 
the serious side or the responsibil- 
ities of life. While charming in 
manners, polite and refined, they 
103 



.7 UN M U N R E 

lacked the good sense and intel- 
ligence of the practical Northern 
wife and mother. Though stout- 
ly opposed to any moral compro- 
mise of the contention, he was 
one of many who hoped and 
believed the questions that pro- 
duced the war might have been 
settled without it. He had a 
theory that if the government 
had proclaimed Freedom to every 
colored person born after a 
given time the misery of it 
would have been gradually mit- 
igated. To free them all at once 
he felt would have been cruel to 
both slave and slave holder. He 
did not dream that a prophet like 
Hooker Washington would arise 
to teach and elevate the colored 
man by the only way possible of 
educating the brain through the 
hand, and so keep faith with both 
races. 

My father always found time 
to cast his vote, and his old 
neighbor, David Crocker, high 
sheriff of the county, never failed 
during his life to take him to 
the town house on election, a 
courtesy his son Frederick fol- 
lowed to his death. He deeply 
101 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

grieved with all the country at 
the tragic death of our president, 
lie was a great admirer of the 
elder John Adams and James 
Otis. When I was eight years 
of age my father and mother 
took me in a chaise to West 
Barnstable to see the historic 
home of James Otis. I distinctly 
recall his showing me the beauti- 
ful wainscotting in the hall, the 
lovely paneled wall, and carving 
of the dark mahogany stair rail- 
ing. It is a comfort to feel that 
the patriotic spirit of today 
would have preserved the beauti- 
ful old Otis and Hancock houses, 
which modernism held no respect 
for till within the times since 
the war, when our people and the 
nation are eager to preserve its 
traditions. 

105 




CHAPTER XVI. 

1849, Opera, Jenny Lind. 

T was in the early spring of 
1849, when returning from a 
winter's visit, that we three 
sisters, Sarah, Caroline and I, 
met in Boston and by the 
courtesy of our cousin Charlotte 
Haley, visited there for a week 
and heard our first Italian opera. 
It was given at the Howard 
Athaeneum, which was then Bos- 
ton's best theatre. The opera 
was Somnambula, and the prima 
donna a Miss Ostinelli, the 
daughter of an old music teacher 
in Portland. It was her first ap- 
pearance in Boston, and she 
delighted the audience with the 
pretty melodies of "Still So 
Gently O'er Me Stealing," and 
"The Heart Bowed Down." I 
should say it was very well put 
upon the stage. The scenery was 
in keeping, and her sweet musical 
voice, well cultivated, left a 
pleasant impression upon the 
audience. She gave Somnamhnla, 
Lucia and others with much 
106 



J II N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

effect, and afterwards took the 
name of Bicaccianti. Subsequent- 
ly, on the event of the two sis- 
ters' marriage — Sarah and Caro- 
line — we all went to hear to- 
gether the wonderful Jenny Lind. 
Was she really the most wonder- 
ful singer in the world? or was 
it a charm of person and char- 
acter? or perhaps it was the 
choice of old familiar melodies, 
such as "Oh Had I the Wings 
of a Dove," "The Last Rose of 
Summer," and the beautiful 
"Come Unto Him" of Handel's, 
which enchanted her large audi- 
ences. She gave generously to 
various charities, and so estab- 
lished a reputation in the affec- 
tions and remembrance of the 
people that remains to this day. 
She married Otto Goldschmidt, 
who performed as pianist at her 
concerts, and returned with him 
to Sweden, her native country. 
When in Boston she made her 
home in one of the houses in 
Louisburg Square, upon which I 
look from my window in Boston. 
From Boston my sisters and 
their husbands journeyed to the 
107 



J II N M U N K E 

Catskills, and returned in June 
to their home at the Thacher 
House, which was their abiding 
place until their own houses were 
built, both of which they now oc- 
cupy with their children. 

On the return from the visit in 
1849 we brought as a gift to 
Father and Mother our Daguerre- 
otypes. They were each put into 
pretty morocco cases and given 
to our mother and father as our 
returning gift to them. 

This was the last stage coach 
journey we made together. The 
train brought us to Plymouth, 
and the railroad was not ex- 
tended to Barnstable until some 
years after — as nearly as I recall 
it was about 1854. The fatigue 
and tiresomeness of stage coach 
riding was not then realized or 
even thought of. We were young 
and full of the joyousness of 
life, with much to hear and tell 
of our winter's visits, and, what 
was best of all, we were going 
home, which after all is the 
great delight of going away. 

Looking back as I must in 
writing these words, it seems to 
me now that we as ;i family were 
108 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

unusually exempt from the many 
sad losses and experiences which 
often occur in large families. 
The death of my sister Caroline 's 
two infants, and the loss of our 
dear good hrother-in-law James 
Knowles, which took place twen- 
ty-five years after his marriage, 
were the only sad events in that 
long time till my father's death 
in 1879. After that the numhers 
rapidly diminished, as must be 
the history of every large family. 
10!) 




CHAPTER XVII. 

"The Universe." 

WENTY-THREE years in a Uni- 
versity town ought to Leave 

.some impression, not only of 
the place, but of what makes 
a place. To the natives it means 
"The Universe." When you are 
in it, possibly the chill of the 
social atmosphere impedes the 
proper circulation, ami therefore 
those on a lower plane cannot 
from the nature of things get the 
right temperature of its lofty 
heights. Then there is the quick- 
ened pulse of its inhabitants 
which confuses one in making a 
diagnosis when the condition 
mentally is so superior. To lower 
mortals, such as are not born 
in that sphere, the vision is 
changed ; one only sees through 
a glass darkly, and even then 
die vision is so remote that every- 
thing is indefinite. The stranger 
must climb and Look down, or 
descend and look' up, which is 
really the proper attitude, for 
the lower Level is the only safe 
11(1 



•I () II N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

one, and wings arc not allowed 
to any from the lower hem- 
ispheres. But as you can oc- 
casionally judge of ;i tree by 
the bud (I mean only learned 
people can do this, but as there 
are none other in the Universe) 
one must take the children of 
these extraordinary forbears to 
know and recognize from whence 
and where they sprouted. It 
must be a tremendous elevation 
to live up to, this one of the 
Universe, but if you can dig low 
enough and high enough and 
narrow enough there is no more 
to do. These prodigies astonish 
their forbears, but that is what 
forbears are for. 

In the little village where I 
once not exactly lived, but ate 
and drank and slept, there were 
these hyper-human productions, 
which 1 question have ever yet 
been classified or catalogued. 
One was a boy who astonished 
his governess by soliloquising 
thus after having received a box 
of crayons for a Christmas gift: 
"When I die I shall take these 
crayons to Heaven with me in 
111 



J II N M U N R E 

my trunk." The answer was, 
'You cannot carry your trunk to 
Heaven." "Oh yes," he said, "I 
can. When people die their souls 
go up to God, and their trunks 
go out to Mt. Auburn. I see 
them go by every day, and some- 
times they have feathers on the 
top." Smart boy, but he was a 
University professor's son! What 
a pity these wonderful children 
should have to exploit their en- 
ergies in putting crape upon door 
bells, and breaking street lantern 
glass, and rolling babies in their 
carts on the railroad track to see 
how near they can go and not 
have them run over, etc., beside 
calling at houses and asking to 
see the new parlor carpet be- 
cause he heard a lady say that 
every time she saw it it made 
her sick, etc. But of course these 
remarkable prodigies are in the 
Universe, and with these wonder- 
ful wings they must break their 
shell, especially as infants as 
soon as they begin to talk are 
taught to call a part of the 
Universe the "Abomination of 
Desolation," an accomplishment 
which surpasses that of Learning 

112 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

Greek, for when everything else 
is learned what can these poor 
little children do with these very 
remarkable minds? It is such an 
honor to be allowed to live in 
this Universe. You must he sure 
in the first move to lower your 
head or something or somebody 
may hit you. Not that your head 
is of any consequence if you are 
not horn there. After that first 
step you are expected to do all 
sorts of things which the elect 
precious do, but you are not sup- 
posed to receive in return even 
thanks, because why? You are 
not of "The Elect." If you ac- 
cidentally meet these superior 
beings you are not known, and 
you are to understand that only 
within the pale of your inferior 
position is there any chance for 
civility to you, for you do not 
belong in Our Universe. Under- 
stand yourself as only a bridge 
for people to walk over who can- 
not get there by any other way — 
and be sure and remember if 
you are made a door mat of, you 
must lift your head and ac- 
knowledge the-' courtesy, for they 
are in the Universe and you are 
113 



J IT N M l' N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

not. If you meet these superior 
beings and they are polite enough 
to say, ' ' Holloa ! where did you 
come from now?" all you need 
say "I have come from nowhere 
but I am going straight to "The 
Universe." That is all that can 
he expected in this world or the 
next. 

114 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

Jane's Family. 

Y dear sister Jane I wish to 
speak especially of as, in eon- 
sequence of her elder sister 
Susan's early marriage, she 
became, as my father expressed it, 
her mother's right hand. She had 
the natural mother instinct, and 
I as a weakly child recall nothing 
like the pleasure of sitting in 
•Jane's lap. It was quite reason- 
aide with my mother's deafness 
that the oldest member should 
take next to the mother's place. 
She was capable, executive and 
industrious, and for several years, 
quite in spite of my father's 
wish, she made all the younger 
children's dresses and also took 
a hand in making or trimming 
their bonnets! and hats. She was 
a dear, good, faithful soul, intel- 
ligent and sensible, and mothered 
us all to the last days of her 
life. My father fully appreciated 
her, and after her marriage, 
when her husband's business 
compelled moving from place to 
115 



.1 o II N M ( T N R O B 

place, lie bought the house in 
Cambridge, which she retained 
as her home for the rest of her 
days. 

She had three children, two 
sons and a daughter, of whom 
only one is now living. Her 
youngest child was a sweet faced, 
blue-eyed hoy, with pink cheeks 
and golden hair and naturally 
his mother's idol. Prom birth he 
he was never well, ;md though 
he lived to three and a hall' years 
he developed slowly, giving no 
hope of improvement. AVhile 
this very helplessness endeared 
him only the more to his mother's 
heart, this very condition I be- 
lieve reconciled her much to his 
death, and she always spoke of 
him in a tender voice as '*My 
poor little Harry." 

Here I desire to give special 
tribute to her dear Charlie, 
whose death was to me a great' 
grief. From a little hoy he had 
been, from his delicate health, 
more in Barnstable with me than 
with his mother, who was bur- 
dened with constant removals, 
her rather delicate children, and 
also the added one of her hus- 
llii 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

band's mother, who after the 
family removed to Cambridge 
was one of the household till her 
death. Our Charlie, as we always 
called him, had a temperament 
that would not let him rest ex- 
cept when asleep. How vividly 
it comes back to me with what 
a dance he began the day, stand- 
ing before the window, whence, 
before he was half dressed, he 
would fly to the top of the hill 
to put up his little flag. As a 
sort of recreation he went to the 
village school, and it was amus- 
ing to see what a regiment of 
boys he led who called him on 
their way. Tt was pitiful, with 
all this super-energy, when, be- 
fore ten years of age, he sudden- 
ly became lame. It was the be- 
ginning of hip disease, which 
developed rapidly, and after the 
best medical advice, as he failed 
to improve, I took him to a 
specialist in Boston. His little 
sweet face attracted the sym- 
pathy and attention of every one 
when I took him out for his 
walk on his little crutches, and 
all the young men in the opposite 
house where we boarded were 
117 



J II N M U N R E 



eager to take him up and down 
the stairs, and lie was as merry 
over it as if it was the hest joke 
in the world. With his active 
temperament and natural free- 
dom which is the hoy's preroga- 
tive, the sweetness with which he 
bore it all was wonderful. He 
was never ill natured or irritahle, 
even when in pain, and this man- 
ly spirit lasted him to the end. 
After awhile he gave up his 
crutches, which I have always 
kept, and the shortening of the 
leg was supplied hy a thick hoot 
so that in years after he was 
able to take long walks and do 
some light work. Later on his 
Uncle James found a place in his 
business for him. He was with 
me at the time of this appoint- 
ment and though glad for him, 
that with his ambitious nature he 
could find himself useful, I shall 
still never forget the pang it 
brought when I realized I never 
was to have my own Little boy 
again in Barnstable, lie never 
however lost the opportunity of 
coming to me for a holiday and 
his summer vacation was always 
at Grandpa's house in liarnstahle. 
IIS 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

He loved the air and freedom of 
the town, and when his health 
failed it was there and there only 
he wished to go. His sister Mary 
was always his best comrade and 
their mutual tastes in music and 
books held them always together. 
He was especially fond of music 
and always had his season's 
tickets to the Symphony con- 
certs. He was devoted to mathe- 
matics and chemistry. He picked 
up German enough to give him 
self much relaxation, and a 
chemistry student in my sister's 
family told me he went ahead of 
hiin in that science. His high 
carnival as a little boy was the 
yearly Cattle Show at Barnstable. 
He started early Monday morn- 
ing for the Pair gounds, and 
from then till Thursday night we 
only caught flying glimpses of 
him. Every hour of the four 
days he was in a heaven of de- 
light. Each night he returned 
full of wonderful stories of the 
side shows, about the wild men of 
Borneo, the woman with the two 
heads, and all other horrors, with 
which he regaled and astonished 
his grandfather. 

119 



.1 O II N M U N K E 

He was on hand as a little fel- 
low in all the excitement of the 

village from the killing and 
squealing of a pig to the up- 
setting of a boat, runaway horse 
and all the rest. In spite of all 
this wonderful vitality he was 
here and there and always the 
perfect little gentleman. lie 
could never endure profanity or 
vulgarity in speech or manners, 
and all his instincts were refined 
and pure. He died at thirty-five, 
leaving behind only the sweetest 
and most cherished memory. 

I have said that my nephew 
and his sister were, from a sim- 
ilar and affectionate disposition, 
the best of comrades, and after 
the death of all the family save 
Mary, she with no special prep- 
aration took her mother's house 
and carried along the family who 
filled it for the coming seven 
years. She was up to that time 
always the devoted daughter. 
Through her mother's last pain- 
ful illness she was her only at- 
tendant till within a few days of 
her death. Her faithful and un- 
swerving sense of duty with ;m 
abiding love and natural con- 
12(i 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

scientiousness challenged her de- 
votion to the utmost of her 
strength and ability. Then as 
now no self-pleasure or indul- 
gence tempted her to failure of 
the smallest obligation. In its 
broadest sense the New England 
conscience has possessed and con- 
trolled her to the sacrifice of 
things she loves best. Should I 
try to express all her faithful 
love and devotion to me in words 
I should only the more realize 
how impossible are words to ex- 
press one's feelings; indeed if 
words could express our best 
feelings they would not be worth 
expressing. If only to assuage 
the loneliness of my life after 
my sister Abby's death, her pres- 
ence and untiring devotion has 
been to me its one great solace 
and support. I have thus far 
tried to refrain from anything 
personal, but I cannot deny my 
pen the few imperfect words 
which are only a suggestion of 
much more than I can put into 
this brief space. 

I have omitted to say a 
word of our good brother-in-law 
Wilkes Allen, the kind husband 
121 



J O J I N M U N R O E 

of my sister Jane and affection- 
ate father of his children. No 
man ever started in life with a 
more ambitious desire to attain 
the highest success. His kind- 
ness of heart with unusual gentle- 
ness of manner and disposition 
made him many warm friends. 
It is no exaggeration to say none 
knew him but to love him ; these 
qualities with a certain timidity 
unfitted him to cope with the 
world, and though most lovable, 
honorable and generous he was 
not what the world deems a 
success. His limtations were 
somewhat supplied by the un- 
usual executive ability of his 
wife, who quite as a matter of 
course assumed certain duties 
which usually devolve upon the 
head of a family. An accident 
to the muscles of his foot pre- 
vented him from pursuing his 
profession of dentistry, so my sis- 
ter supplemented by taking into 
her house, which was large 
and commodious, several persons, 
among whom were members of 
James Russell Lowell's family, 
a half sister, aunt cousin and 
nephew, Percival Lowell, who 
122 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

afterwards became family friends. 
Prof. Shaler, with his wife and 
child, spent their first married 
year under her care, and at 
various times other people of note 
and reputation in Cambridge 
made their home with her. 
123 




CHAPTER XIX. 

Yarmouth Families. 

omit the mention of my 
father's grandchildren now 
living without a word would 
be a pleasure I should be sorry 
to deprive myself of. That their 
good character, good morals and 
general prosperity would be a 
joy to my father I need not say. 
Charles Swift was editor of a 
county paper for many years, 
and while he lived his pen was 
always ready to uphold every 
good public and private act of 
citizenship. His style was un- 
usually finished and keen, and 
his editorials would have done 
justice to the columns of the New 
York Tribune or Daily Advertis- 
er. As a family man he was pre- 
eminent, and in spite of public 
service as senator to the Massa- 
chusetts legislature and a mem- 
ber of the governor's council, 
his first, last and highest devo- 
tion was to his large family. I 
am proud to feel they have done 
him honor in their positions, two 
124 



J II N M U N R E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

of whom are in governmnet ser- 
vice, one judge of the Circuit 
Court, and the youngest ably 
filling his father's place as 
editor and publisher of the coun- 
ty paper which is the chief organ 
of the Republican party on Cape 
Cod. 

The death of my dear brother- 
in-law James Knowles when Ins 
children were young, leaving 
three sons and two daughters, 
gave him no opportunity to wit- 
ness the fulfillment of his am- 
bitious intention concerning their 
future. He was able to send his 
oldest son to Cambridge, where 
he had an honorable graduation 
and attended the Law school, es- 
tablishing a prosperous career 
for himself in his profession in 
Boston. His next son in age 
when sixteen went into his 
father's store as clerk and not 
long after, before he was twenty, 
assumed the entire charge of the 
business and is now spoken of as 
the S. S. Pierce of Cape Cod. 
Both these sons are married 
though neither have children. 
One younger son who bears his 
125 



J II N M IT N R O E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

father's name is in prosperous 

business and is blessed with one 
son who bears the name of his 
father, grandfather and great- 
grandfather. The two daughters, 
who live at home, are daily 
watchers of their hopelessly in- 
valid mother and also superin- 
tending the house with its vari- 
ous cares ami duties. 

The daughters of my brother 
Charles, though living, should 
not be omitted as kind, affection- 
ate and dutiful in the least as 
well as greatest obligations of 
home and all that it menas. 
Sarah M. Swift has been dis- 
tinguished in stenography by an 
appointment as official sten- 
ographer for Suffolk county, in 
which office she has shown un- 
usual ability and also been given 
important duties of special work 
in the profession. 

Of my two sisters Sarah and 
Caroline now living, I can only 
add my word of affectionate sis- 
terly tribute to them as wise, lov- 
ing and faithful mothers whose 
children must rise up to call them 
blessed. 

126 




CHAPTER XX. 

Character. 

00 ATE now to the most im- 
portant part and also the most 
difficult in this unpretending 
record of my father, as I at- 
empt to give some adequate 
analysis of his strong and de- 
cided character. I have tried to 
show its domestic side in the 
devotion to his family, to his 
business, to his sense of obliga- 
tion as a good citizen, all of 
which convey something of his 
sincere, conscientious and moral 
principle. But in his higher ob- 
ligation to his church, to Ins 
Christian belief, to his God and 
his neighbor, in each and all of 
each consisted an abiding prin- 
ciple which was first and last and 
always uppermost in his heart 
and life. In his youth he became 
a member of the Unitarian 
church, and was for many 
years deacon of the Barnstable 
church. He was superintendent 
of the Sunday school for years, 
and leader of a large Bible class 
127 



.! O H N M U N R E 

consisting of teachers and stu- 
dents. In his family reading of 
the Bible he chose the Epistles 
of St. Paul and the Gospel of 
John, which were his favorites. 

It is not easy to go back and 
turn over the leaves of a life that 
in sincerity was an open book, to 
analize qualities on which time 
and age have cast a softened 
light, and easily to delineate them 
with a pen. With his high moral 
sense and lofty purpose, a con- 
science void of offence toward 
God and man, reverent spirit, a 
daily sense of dependence on a 
higher Power, all these were the 
governing rules which dominated 
his life and work. Do not the 
elements which go to produce 
spirituality have a beginning in 
the homely virtues of right liv- 
ing? 

After the. hurry of his life was 
over and its work taken from his 
hands, thrown upon his own in- 
ward resources, an unwonted 
peace seemed to take possession 
of him. I recall him in his easy 
chair, with folded hands, and my 
dear mother always in his sight, 
quietly looking out, but intently 
12S 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

thinking, apparently. I can but 
believe his mind was dwelling on 
the past and future with an in- 
ward consciousness of Peace and 
quietness that only a heart at 
rest with itself could give. For 
him there was no such thing as 
age; all his impulses and sym- 
pathies were as alert as ever, and 
the ninety years and more found 
him with that joyousness of heart 
which no silvered hair or be- 
dimmed vision can cloud. 

And so day after day passed 
in tranquil repose, till one morn- 
ing, without pain or any ap- 
parent consciousness that his 
hour had come, he lay down and 
closed his eyes, "like one that 
wraps the drapery of his couch 
about him and lies down to pleas- 
ant dreams." The thought of 
him comes to me in the old hymn 
of Mrs. Barbauld in her sweet 
adieu to Life : 

Life ! We 've been long together, 
Through pleasant and through 

cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part when friends 

are dear — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 
12!) 



J II N M U N R O E 

Then steal away, give little 
warning, 
Choose thine own time ; 
Say not "Good night" but in 
some brighter clime 
Bid me "Good morning." 

It is not easy to give a true 
idea of character in words, for 
while one may have an ideal in 
their mind, no pen can make its 
lights and shades as in a picture. 
No one living is faultless, yet 
there are elements in character 
which require a certain alchemy 
to analyze. The real and per- 
manent qualities go to make the 
sum total of a good man. It is 
what he really is, and not as Ids 
neighbors may see him, not in- 
deed as he may see himself, hut 
as he is known to the Searcher 
of all hearts. He must be true 
in intent and purpose, and to be 
thus we call a man conscientious. 
In this transitory world we deem 
any man good who, in spite of 
often infirmities and hereditary 
disabilities, keeps steadily on to 
his purpose of fidelity in the 
light which is given him, in what- 
ever code or faith he believes, 
130 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

holding to the highest standards, 
and so fitting himself to live and 
serve in his own sphere. Thus 
he sheds around him an uncon- 
scious influence that is felt if not 
expressed. In turn environment 
makes in part his character. 
Ambitious as ray father was for 
himself and his children, it was 
not that they should' he rich, but 
that they should be good men 
and women. lie was much 
grieved in his last days by the 
loss of many dear grandchildren. 
Tn his love and affection, he 
often said he knew no difference 
between them and his very own. 
Were he living now I am sure 
he would rejoice in the temper- 
ance, industry and integrity of 
his seven grandsons. He also 
took great pleasure and delight 
in his granddaughters. To one 
of them, especially, who was the 
oldest at that time, when quite a 
little girl, having noticed an am- 
bitious desire to be helpful to 
her mother, he brought from Bos- 
ton a pretty rosewood workbox 
as, he said, a little reward for 
1 icing "such a good girl." 

I do not forget that in giving 
131 



J O II N M- U N R () E 



this word picture of my father's 
character every word is dictated 
by love and by a .somewhat more 
close ami affectionate introspec- 
tion of his inner life and thought 
than other members of the fam- 
ily might command. Being the 
youngest of the family ami al- 
ways in the home my daily 
opportunity was increased for 
watching all these little traits of 
character which those who had 
left home and who had their lives 
absorbed in their own cares could 
not realize. A few words from 
the village newspaper I copy as 
a kind and just tribute, which 
his family gratefully appreciated. 
The closing sentences are as fol- 
lows : 

"The influence and example of 
Deacon Munroe have always been 
of public service and are worthy 
of remembrance and imitation. 
Every good cause of religion, 
morality, education and progress 
found in him a willing helper. 
By constant attention to business, 
by patient industry and sys- 
tematic frugality of life, he ac- 
cumulated a competency. It' tin 1 
young men of the present age 
132 



AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

would follow in the same path, 
they might expect length of days, 
riches and honor. His life has 
been full of usefulness and he 
has gone to his rest, like a shock 
of corn fully ripe for the Har- 
vest." 

The old hymn of Sir Henry 
Wotton so pictures my father's 
character that I quote it below: 

"How happy is he born or 
taught, 
Who serveth not another's will, 
Whose armor is his honest 
thought, 
And simple Truth his highest 
skill ; 
Who God doth late and early 
pray 
More of His grace than gifts to 
lend, 
And walks with man from day to 
day. 
As with a Brother and a 
Friend. 
This man is freed from servile 
bands 
Of hope to rise or fear to fall, 
Lord of himself, though not of 
lands, 
And having nothing, yet hath 
all." 

133 




CHAPTER XXT. 

Finis. 

S the succeeding years pass and 
the family history means the 
seattered threads of memory 
that hold together those who 
are left, it becomes a little dif- 
ficult to hold up its mirror to 
the faces of those who are living. 
These fragmentary memories, 
when brought together ever so 
connectedly, give no very clear 
outline even of a family life in 
which so many figures are repre- 
sented. To do justice to all and 
neglect none would be my great- 
est wish, but these words are for 
eyes that are still open to the 
light of present scenes. On the 
one hand I must not be too per- 
sonal and on the other T must be 
neglectful of no one. Tt is not 
without a sense of the impossibil- 
ity of satisfying myself that T 
bring my unfinished story to a 
close. A pen portrait of friends 
whose faces you can never forget, 
a true representation of charac- 
ter that merits more than one 

134 



J O II N M U N K E 

AND OLD BARNSTABLE 

can put in words, is after all 
an unfinished and impossible at- 
tempt. If however memories 
which I hope are only pleasant 
and true to life are in any meas- 
ure revived of those dear ones 
whom here we can see no more, 
I shall be glad if this imperfect 
transcription will give any satis- 
faction or comfort. 
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